Chekhov's Gun
by Lipush
Summary: A child's disappearance triggers our favorite duo's inolvement. The journey they're about to take will not be easy. Is it possible to find justice in a world that does not seem to have any? ***A True Story***
1. Prologue

**Fanfic: Chekhov's gun**

"Castle, this is one of the few things I'll never be able to grasp. I'd expect that after everything that has happened, they'd feel some kind of remorse, but I found none. How can it be that such darkness exists amongst us?"…..

A/N- I thought a lot about this fanfic, should I put it into writing or not, and in case I do, should I upload it? I finally decided in favor, but that wasn't a simple decision.

This fanfic is everything but fluff. If you're looking for a romantic, easy going, humorous piece, one to accompany you when you finish up a chocolate box with some warm milk, you might wanna leave right now, since this is going to be nothing of the above.

This fanfic occurs in season 4, but I guess since it's a case-fic, it could basically take place in season 3, as well.

***Summary: One of the most complicated and painful cases, becomes the center of the NYPD's investigations. While the team tries to figure out what exactly happened, and find some justice in a world that doesn't seem to have any, Castle and Beckett find themselves in a middle of a shocking and horrific case, in which Beckett finally agrees that such thing as "Pure Evil" really does exist.***

Please notice: This fanfic is rated M. it will have no graphic-sexual descriptions, or any bloody graphic images to hold, but it will touch some painful issues, including child abuse, violence, rape, and of course, death.

If you find any of those disturbing, please, LEAVE NOW.

_If you continue reading, __please do take notice __that** this fanfic is based on a true story, and most of the plot-lines told in it happened in reality**__ (year 2008-2009). If you're still not freaked out, you're more than welcome to take this journey along with me._

As you may have, or may not have noticed, English is not my native language. Currently, I have no betas, and in my grammar-checker I trust, but I hope it will suit you in the meantime.

I believe this story will take me about 12 chapters, give or take. The last chapter will be an Epilogue, to tell the complete and true story as it took place.

* * *

_"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there."- Anton Chekhov_

* * *

**Prologue: **

France, about 5 years ago, late at night:

Marie Charlotte vowed to be nothing like her mother.

Just a few weeks ago, she turned 18. She didn't wait another minute to finally leave her mother's dwelling, and did so, on the night of her birthday.

She should have done long before, if you ask her.

She well remembered the years of screams, humiliation, misery and violence, she went through, by the hands of the mentally-ill woman.

This had to stop.

And Marie made sure it will.

Her mother knew nothing about Ben. Nobody did, in fact. Not even her aunts or cousins, as much as they bothered to check on her these days. All they really cared about was getting her money, in order to pay for drugs or gambling debts.

God knows, she's had more than enough.

Ben told her, "Let's run away", and now, finally, _finally_, she has bothered to actually listen to him.

Her Ben was the only one who really cared for her. Her shining light in a world full of darkness, and yet-to-be-defeated demons. She looked for building a future with him, far away from France and far away from every reminder of her parents or family, every constant nagging feeling that she'll never have the chance to see or experience what was beyond the horizon.

And just when she almost gave up hope, there came along Ben.

Marie found an old road Motel, where she now waited for him to show up. She knew her mother will probably send her younger brother to look for her soon, and he will drag her by the hair back home, if was needed.

They must hurry.

"We'll fly to America", Ben told her many times, "They say it's the best hiding place, no one will find us there. All those who want to escape find shelter in America. They're shadows. Invisible".

So off to America they go.

Just two days ago, Ben said he has something very important to share with her, something he couldn't possibly tell his mother. Something that could change their lives forever. "Today," he has promised "I'll tell you…and then I'll take you far away from here to a much better future together".

His eyes sparkled when speaking.

And like always, Marie trusted him.

She pulled her beautiful and needed cloths out of her closet, arranged some well needed bras, underwear and tampons, some crackers and water, make up and socks, and put all those on the old dusty motel-bed.

Must remember to take everything important.

When being satisfied with her packed things, she pulled out a red travel-bag from under the bed, and pushed all her stuff in.

It was an old and dusty, faded-red travel bag, with a hell-like stinky smell, but big enough for her likings. This bag meant a lot to her. It was the bag where she pushed all of her old dolls in, when wishing to save them, so her abusing father won't take the little she has left, away from her, to the trash can in the garage. The bag was just like her. Tired, old, orphaned. She grew attached to it.

And if it was good enough for a tiny doll, it must be good enough for a long journey, as well.

A light knock on the door was suddenly heard.

Marie immediately jumped to open it, a smile spread on her face when seeing Ben standing there, all giddy and excited. "Marie!" he called in a child-like in-love voice, and in matter of seconds they were locked in a passionate embrace. Her hands looked for his arms, wanting, desperately, to feel his body-warmth, her lips and tongue making love to his mouth, a soft moan leaving her throat.

His own fingers found her soft blond locks, pulling, grasping, searching. He pulled her close, wanting to make sure it is real, that she's really there, kissing and touching and holding him, that they are really here, both of them, together.

After long seconds, he pulled away, his eyes full of lust. His eyes looked for her blue sapphires, like asking, when finally, "Are you ready to go?"

Marie nodded quietly, her lips swollen, but she still needed to know, "What is that you wanted to tell me?"

The grin was back, and he took a folded document out of his pants' pocket, handing it to his beloved, "look" he said, his voice shaking.

She took the paper, to examine it. Her eyebrows frowned, and then rose, her eyes growing wide, as she gasped- "Your father's still alive?..."

"Yes!" he called, his emotion clear in his eyes, "And he lives in the New York area! He has real estate there. A big mansion, in one of the small towns surrounding New York. I knew my mother didn't tell me the truth about his whereabouts. But I found him, love! I contacted him, he really is overjoyed to know where I am, and that I want to get to know him. He said he always wanted the change to be part of my life, but my mom never gave him the option".

Marie blinked, confused, "But…what does this all even mean?"

The huge smile was still one, "It means he wants us to come over, Marie! Bring Elleanore with us! You know that mom never wanted to have her, anyways. She will have the chance to grow up happy, there! And we will have a big house to inherit! I'll get to know my dad! It will be amazing! He really wants us to come and stay with him! He's so lonely, Marie!"

His lover hesitated, but the excitement was evident in her eyes, as well, "Real estate?" she asked in a small voice.

He nodded like a child discovering Santa.

"A big house?"

He nodded again, "We can finally have the future we always dreamed of!"

"Far away from our mothers," she murmured in a dreamy voice.

"Will you come with me?" he asked, his voice both fearful and hopeful.

Her eyes were locked on his, and suddenly, her own smile spread all over her face, "of course," she said, her eyes sparkling, now, too, "Of course, I'll join you. This is what we wanted".

His arms immediately embraced her again, "Finally", he whispered, "_Finally_, far away, where nobody will *ever* find us…"

She leaned her head on his shoulder, long minutes passing, "Far away from here…" she couldn't believe it.

Long minutes after their moment of bliss was over, Marie turned to pick up her red bag, the one which never let her down since painful childhood years, the bag of rugged old dolls and broken toys, and holding Ben's arm, they left the room, on their way to a better future.

Marie could hardly wait.

* * *

New York- present time:

Detective Kevin Ryan recently learned to appreciate his life in a totally different way.

To be honest, he learned that important lesson weeks ago.

His fresh and recent marriage to Jenny Ryan couldn't be happier, even though it seems they could've easily failed, taking to mind the bumpy roads and many frustrations of the last couple of weeks. Luckily, his beloved wife was also a forgiving, loving, woman.

Jenny understood this case was taking its toll on him, just like it had on his friends from the 12th.

All of New-York speaks constantly of it.

In the early morning hours he would leave for work, and come back with red and swollen eyes, late at night; he will crash on the bed sometimes, next to his waiting worried wife, without eating or taking a late shower, and when she asks, he'll simply answer quietly that "There's nothing new. We found nothing".

With all the frustration of not having her husband by her side in those says, like all marriages demand, Jenny was proud of her Kevin. He's a good cop.

He feels. He hurts. He's a justice seeker.

And she knew that as long as justice is yet to be found, he will continue looking for it, until a small light in the darkness could be discovered.

So as long as this case is still active, as long as Kevin, and Detectives Beckett and Esposito, and novelist Richard Castle are still trying to find answers, Jenny will support her man. Always by his side.

This night was no different.

Even if he learned to re-evaluate his life.

Kevin came home late at night, entering the bedroom slowly, taking off his clothes, finding his place next to his wife in their comfy bed. For five nights, he hasn't made love to her, but she says nothing, just lying next to him, wide awake, like he is.

"Nothing yet?" came the obvious question.

Ryan clucked his tongue, sighing, "Another wasted day".

Jenny felt he heart breaking.

Her hands traveled along his hair, his cheekbones, his nose, "It will all be alright, Kev" she whispered.

His gaze, which was locked on some spot in the ceiling, turned to her, "Let's just go to sleep, Jen" he said, sadly.

The light was then turned off.

Darkness filled the room.

She said 'Good night'. So did he.

At some point Kevin fell asleep. The exhaustion of the last weeks finally taking over.

Jenny stayed wide awake, listen to his distressful breathing.

She knew that men sometimes talk in their sleep. It was rare with Kevin, and when it happened, he wasn't even 'talking' but mumbling incoherent sounds.

But not tonight.

Tonight, when she held him, comforting, loving, hurting with him, she could easily hear him whispering in his sleep, "Rose...Rose…"

And her eyes will tear up.

* * *

**A/N- That was the first chapter. If anyone is kind enough to be my Beta, I will more than be happy for a life-vest or a rescue belt**

**My exams are currently in place, so I'll update as soon as I can.**

**Reviews are my vital-air. So please feel free to give them, don't be afraid to be harsh, this will only make me improve.**

**Thank you guys for following my work!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chekhov's Gun- It has just begun:**

Normandy, France, 5 years ago:

They decided to wait a bit, before taking the long journey to the western beaches. The constant driving and moving from one place to another had a bad influence on Marie's health.

It's more than 3 days, now, that she feels nauseous and fatigued.

Ben, always the gentleman, said she might want to take her time and rest, they could wait, of course. As long as it takes. He signed on a paper demanding the room for the upcoming week, the owner didn't seem to mind as long as he gets his daily payment, in cash. Ben found a temporal job, because they started running out of money.

Marie was left to pass the days in her room, incredibly bored and on edge.

He would come back with a warm meal, and she would as always be thankful for his kindness, but her impatience was getting the better of her, and she wished she wasn't losing herself to boredom.

It was just after this weekend, that she began being very aware of her condition, and the impatience turned into pure fear and anxiety.

She now stood in front of the mirror, looking at the tiny box with dread and aversion.

She's just 18. She's not ready for that yet. Being a mother.

Maybe because her own mother was such a…disappointment?

Marie knew that by all means, and in one way or another, she's going to find out, so she better just do it and get it over with.

She pulled the home test out of the box. Sat down. Released her bladder.

It all took no more than a few seconds and now she just waited, nervous and fearful, for the results that might change her life forever.

She doesn't want a child. She's not ready to have a child. She will probably be an awful mother.

She doesn't have any idea about anything concerning motherhood.

Her own mother used to beat her up, while she wasn't too drunk to miss her helpless body. Her father did too, the helpless pig.

Find kind of future will she be able to give a child, anyway?

The tiny watch beeped and then she knew it was time. Turning back to the sink, she pulled the home test out of the cup, examining it.

She felt the judge's gavel come cracking down.

SMACK.

The result said "Positive".

* * *

New York- Present time:

Detective Katherine Beckett wasn't an irascible person.

Not at all.

She believed that pressure on suspects should be under a very calculated thinking and estimating of human behaviors.

Her career was based upon figuring out which buttons to push, what to say, and when and how to say it, so their suspect will break or give them something to go on, make them confess or turn over whoever they're trying to protect.

It was not at all simple to climb up and become a respectful female-cop, in a world which was ruled by men. She knew that. However, her years of expertise granted her respect and trust, her colleagues were aware of that, as well.

That Tuesday afternoon, Castle brought her coffee to the observation room. Now being questioned, was their suspect.

The detective asking the hard questions, normally, should have been her, since it was her case. However, the one interrogating was an agent who has been specifically asked to assist, just like her. Endless battles took place between the NYPD and the FBI, each cop and agent wanted a little piece of the action, their names to be on the list of the ones solving this complicated case.

Beckett, however, was not at all interested in prestige. All her efforts were for one reason and for one reason only. Justice.

She wanted to see that worthless worm in that room confesses for the horrible crime he committed.

That was it.

Their suspect had them chasing leads all over New York in the last few days. Captain Gate's orders were clear. He shall stay in custody until full confession. 'Sir' became 'Iron Gates' again, and she will not stand the department to be ridiculed by one pigheaded suspect.

What Sir didn't understand yet, was, that Ronald Ransone didn't humiliate the department only, but all of New York's law enforcement authorities, in general.

Not to mention the public.

Through the thick glass, she observed the interrogation, just when she heard Castle coming in with her cup of coffee, "Did he say anything new?" he asked dryly.

Kate gave him an almost desperate look, "Nothing new. Just the same old 'I don't know what you want me to say' mantra."

Castle didn't show any emotion when he, too, turned to observe the umpteenth interrogation. He stopped counting long ago the amount of times Ransone sat in this very room, being asked the very same questions, giving the very same answers.

"He's not going to break, Kate," Castle said patiently, her concentrated look so adorable, he had to hold himself back from moving a tiny curl from her forehead, "He will probably tire us all before admitting he killed her".

"I know." Beckett answered sadly.

"….I told you, check with my mother, she knows exactly what happened!" Ransone called from the interrogation room.

"We *have* checked, she told us she knows nothing, for months she has no clue of what's going on in your lives, who are you trying to fool? why do you insist on lying to us?!"

"I'm not lying!" Ransone wailed in a way that could make Kate feel almost sorry for him, if she didn't know better. Those were alligator tears, "I told you everything you wanted to hear, you checked out my phone records, what else do you want me to say?..."

"I want the exact location!"

"I told you, I don't remember!" Ransone cried out, "You people cannot be serious! Do you even know the area you want me to narrow down for you?"

"You better try and remember, Ransone! You want to see your family again, don't you?"

"Enough, stop it!" Ransone whined, "I told you I loved her, she was everything to me! I would have killed myself before harming her in any way!"

"We have your wife's letters, everything she told you to do, stop screwing around!" the interrogator's face turned red in pure fury.

Castle's lips narrowed into a thin line, his face a mask of rage. He could feel Kate tensing besides him, her body language mirroring his deep anger.

"She suffered from Postpartum depression," Ransone immediately jumped to defend his eternal beloved, "She wasn't responsible for her actions, don't pull her into this! She's incapable of hurting a fly!"

"Oh, really?!" the detective pulled out and envelope from a think bag, "So you care to explain that? That is a letter she wrote to you from Normandy, saying, and I quote- 'She's ruining both of our lives, can't you see? Get rid of her, I swear, if you don't, I'll kill myself, however you do it, make her disappear, I don't want to see her when coming home, she's ruining my happiness, you must rid yourself of her, or is it that she tricked you to love her instead of me?'" he slammed the case on the table angrily, "What is that, hua?! Your own wife's handwriting! Explain this to me!"

Ransone kept insisting, "I told you, she was depressed, she didn't know any better!"

The interrogator didn't believe any of his words, "All over the city you dragged us, Ransone. You told us one story after another. Are you going to give us anything concrete or is that you want your ass to be stuck in the joint until your fucking balls come off?"

"If I knew anything, I would have told you, don't you think?" Barked Ransone, "I didn't ask for any of this, don't you get it? You don't let me see Swaid, you don't let me see my wife and my girls, what have you done to them?!"… his eyes filled with tears.

Beckett snorted.

"You want to see your wife? Give us the location. Someone who saw you driving there, anything we can work with, the name of junction, street, ANYTHING!"

"I don't remember!"

"So maybe an hour in isolation will help you fresh your memory!" The agents' eyes showed no mercy or sympathy.

Ransone pulled his hair, a cracked sob breaking through, his eyes searching the room. "Let me see Swaid," he decided, finally, "And I will tell you everything you need to know. But without seeing Swaid I'm not saying another word."

The agent leaned back in his chair, almost temped to smile.

Bingo.

"And I want to see my kids, too".

Behind the glass, Castle and Beckett exchanged satisfied looks; the female detective pressed the small button in the corner, "Give him everything he wants" she said.

* * *

**First part- A Broken Home**

Ben came back early that day.

He paid the motel's owner his money in cash, and then returned to the room which became Marie's and his own home.

He was concerned about Marie, these days. The day she told him she's with child, his joy was obvious. A child. Their child. A baby.

He knew she was afraid, but had no doubt she will overcome the fear. He promised her a home, a stable one, at last.

And she trusted him.

His Marie. The most beautiful angel.

And now she will give him a child.

He started doing some extra hours to be able to pay the money, which started running out. To pay for doctor's appointments, healthier food. It was obvious that in this current time they cannot leave France.

He was surprised that her brother was still a no-show, he expected him to come every day, demanding his rebellious sister returned home, at once.

He couldn't complain, though.

Ben rented the room for an unlimited time period. At first, the motel's owner was not overjoyed by the new squatters taking over his property, but as soon as Ben promised a very well extra payment for the unusual request, the owner's greedy eyes sparkled and he just smiled, "S'il vous plaît", counting the bills carefully, just to make sure Ben didn't try to pull one on him. He just added that neither he nor his old sister had any idea about delivering babies, and if the place got dirty in anyway, they will be kicked out of there, no questions asked.

Ben wrote to his father that unfortunately, their journey has been postponed due to his girl's pregnancy. He didn't want her or their child at stake, due to a long flight and adaptation to a foreign country.

His father wrote back immediately, blessing him, saying he can hardly wait to see him and his grandchild.

And one that day, he did come back early, finding his love sitting on the couch, a book resting on her swollen belly. At 7 months, she was a picture of pure beauty.

When noticing him, she smiled, "Hello, Benni", she whispered tenderly, he lent to drop a small peck on her lips, his hands caressing her stomach, "Hello there," he smiled back, then his full attention was on her midsection, which received also a small kiss, "And….hello there"…

He then turned back to look at her, "She kept you awake this night, as well?" he asked.

Marie turned a page from the book, "No," she said nonchalantly, "This night she was quiet. I think she got tired of all the previous' night activities".

Ben's smile didn't leave his face, and he leaned again to caress her belly, "Hey, princess," he said softly, "Don't give mommy such a hard time…we need her, still".

Her nose still stuck in the book, Marie smiled.

The joy was great when the doctor confirmed that they're expecting a girl. Ben already had everything planned in his head, till the last detail. Marie's joy was less extroverted, but Ben had no doubt she was overjoyed, as well.

"Once you give birth, we can finally escape, far away from here", Said Ben, like he did always. Her eyes left the book, turning to look into his.

"I know".

Her pointing finger touched his lips, "Then, we can finally start building our lives".

* * *

In the dark room, the midwife pressed Marie's back, trying to ease the extremely painful contraction.

Hours of sitting in the pool, Marie was ready to give up.

The pain was blinding her.

Ben wiped her drops of sweat, whispering silly nothings in her ear, telling her nonstop how much he loves her. Holding her hands.

Marie just wanted it to be over with.

The active labor began at 4 am, the midwife urging Marie to push.

The young woman's screams could be heard all over, Ben holding and touching and always present.

And just when she was ready to say that she can't do it anymore, she's giving up, let them kill her now, the midwife called her to give one last push, because there, the head is right there, here comes the tiny body out.

And at 4:43am, the newborn's wails could be heard in the room.

Ben was overjoyed. Marie just wanted to rest.

The midwife cut the cord, enveloped the tiny screaming person in a towel, and put her on her mother's chest.

Marie carefully examined her. Ten fingers, ten toes. Every organ in its correct place. Response to sounds? Check.

The baby opened her eyes, a reflection of her mother's sapphires.

And then, with all the exhaustion, Marie found herself smiling.

Yes, her daughter was kind of pretty. She may even grow to like her.

She then turned to look at Ben, whose smile was like a shining star.

They named her 'Rose'.

* * *

New York- A month ago:

"Dude, what you're saying makes absolutely no sense." Esposito said, thoughtfully.

"Yes it does" said Ryan in amusement, chewing his doughnut loudly, "If you think this through, it more than does".

"That's crap, Bro".

"Not really," Ryan leaned over the table, trying to reach the documents in need of filing, he just hated paper work, "Move, you're in my way".

"You're contradicting all of historical known facts with this assumption of yours".

"I didn't assume anything", said Ryan seriously, "I simply asked a question which you chose to say holds no real logic. You turned this whole thing into a joke".

"Superman's immune system partially collapsing in case he gets stung by the same spider that stung Peter Parker? _Really_?"

Ryan shrugged.

"_That_ is your brilliant theory..."

Behind them, Beckett rolled her eyes.

"Not really" Ryan explained, "In the original story, Parker was stung by the Solliphog, a bug resembling a spider, but in fact is not, and is sensitive to light. Its system rejects it, physically. I mean, think about it, a mutated spider, sensitive to sun, stinging Superman? Dude, that's lethal!"

"That's hogwash".

"Everyone knows that Superman's physic is built on receiving sunlight. Like energizer".

"But superman is a superhero!" Esposito argued.

"Weh, _yeah_. But so is Spiderman!"

"Spiderman jumps on sticky webs. He has no special powers, and he cannot fly or see hot chicks through walls".

"But he's not depending on the sun to do his thing!"

"The sun only helps Superman cure himself if he's exposed to Kryptonite. He feels it and gets better. He's not "depending" on it or anything!".

Beckett sighed, "If you won't stop this foolish argument soon, none of us will see the sunlight, since we're going to stay here extra hours".

And here she thought only Castle felt comfortable enough to manage arguments suiting for 9 year olds.

It was one of _those_ days.

Esposito checked around the room, "Yo, 'Eckett, where's writer-boy?"

She gave him one of her looks, "Don't push it" she warned, "you know that hell will freeze over before he'll show up helping us with paper work. It's bad enough he has to go through Gates' looks when there's a hot case, he said he doesn't need her trying and take him down on a slow day, too".

"Smart move".

"Aha."

Esposito was about to say something more, when the captain's office's door opened, Gates' head peeps out, "Beckett. My office. Now".

A wicked grin covered Espo's face, "Oh, what did you do now?" he chuckled.

"Zip it".

Beckett walked into the office in silence, closing the door behind her. Next to the table, sat a man in an expensive suit. His expression serious, official. "Detective Beckett, Agent Brown, FBI." introduced the captain.

Somewhat confused, wondering what this is all about, Beckett shook his hand politely.

"I called you here because I trust your abilities, detective," Said Gates.

Surprised, she nodded, "Thank you, Sir. But what is this about?"

"Agent Brown specializes in, eh, "sensitive issues" in lack of a better word, of the Bureau."

Beckett nodded silently.

"We were asked to be part of a joint investigation of both the Feds and the NYPD, I suggested your expertise, Detective."

"I'm listening." Said Beckett.

"My field is basically solving cases of missing persons, Detective," Spoke Brown for the first time, "I received a call from a concerned civilian, reporting a missing person".

"Sir, I specialize on homicide cases, I know nothing about missing persons…-"

"I have been advised that 4 years ago you assisted in solving a missing child's case, and helped saving her" said Brown.

Guy really did do his homework.

"Unfortunately, this case's twist called you in, not us. It is now dealt with as a homicide case. We received the order to now look for a body".

"Mhhhm," Answered Beckett thoughtfully.

"I gave my word that since this case is highly sensitive, and very much censored, I will give my top detective to help in whatever needed," said Gates, in the tone of 'I dare you to argue'.

Beckett wasn't planning on it, "Ok," she said, "So who are we trying to find?"

From his back pocket, the Agent pulled an old, faded photo- "Her" he said hoarsely.

Beckett felt something heavy sinking inside her when looking at the photo. It was almost heartbreaking. She then turned to look back at her boss.

"You can count on me in whatever you need", she said.

"I expect us to start working ASAP, Detective".


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

France, Four years ago

Ben and Marie entered the Charles de Gaulle airport with their basic needs only. Ben was holding the bags, and Marie, behind him, was carrying her purse and their 8 months old daughter in her arms. The baby leaned onto her mother's shoulders, suckling on her pacifier obsessively.

Ben smiled to himself. The child was attached to this pacifier more than to any other toy of hers. Any attempt of pulling it out of the tiny mouth, will immediately bring forth unbearable wails and a stream of tears, something which will only displease Marie, and frustrate Rose even more.

Marie was not at all pleased when he did that in the past, "Why are you pissing her off?" she barked on him once, when he pulled the pacifier out of her mouth, out of reach, trying to make her crawl, "You know it upsets her, and it's only worsening my migraine."

Ben only rolled his eyes then, nuzzling into Marie's neck, trying to soothe her with tiny kisses and tingling breaths, playfully saying that "This is just a game". Besides, Rose learns how to stimulate her lungs, this way. It's good for her.

Now, it was finally the moment they have been waiting for an entire year. The flight to the state of never-ending options. Ben's father, Ronald Ransone, was waiting for Ben and his family for months, and all were waiting for the upcoming union to finally take place.

Ronald Ransone will be waiting for them at the terminal. His mother and younger sister will attend the reunion, as well.

Ben could hardly wait to finally meat his father, aunt, and grandmother. A family which blesses him and accepts him. "It is your family, too", he told Marie, "Once we're married, my whole world will be yours".

Marry just nodded distractedly at his words.

After going through security checks, they found their place near the gates, and sat down. Rose began to fuss in her mother's arms, and Marie, sensing a tantrum approaching, sighed, and tried to calm the squirming child. "Relax, Rose" she hissed impatiently. The toddler began to babble and wriggle and insist on being put down on the floor next to her mother's feet. With a sigh, Marie complied.

Rose then looked up at her mother, and a wide, toothless grin spread on her face, being blocked only by one pink pacifier. Marie didn't smile back, narrowed her eyes at her daughter, "You're happy, huh?" she clucked her tongue, "The entire ride you misbehaved, it's about time you relax, don't you think? And we have an entire flight ahead of us".

A gurgle and a full baby-laugh was her only answer.

Marie chuckled.

Ben returned to the seat with a chocolate box and a newspaper. Noticing him, Rose released a high deafening shriek, leading to some curious gazed at her direction. An old couple nearby exchanged smiling looks, "Children", they thought.

"We have 30 minutes to waste," Said Ben to Marie, meanwhile sending funny faces to his precious daughter. another gurgle followed, "You need anything else?"

"You brought my cigarettes?"

"They're very expensive here, Sweetie".

"You know I need my cigarettes, Ben".

He sighed, "Your wish is my command", rising up, he turned back to the store.

* * *

During the flight, Marie was mostly sleeping, and Ben was playing with Rose, who was settled down on the table in front, comfortably playing with her toes in her baby-seat.

It was amazing, months passed, and she could still take his breath away. Rose's eyes were deep blue, just like her mother's, her nose was identical to Marie's well shaped one, her fingers long as her father's, and her joyful smiled were hypnotizing.

He hoped that when months pass by, Marie's natural joy will return. Soon after Rose was born, Marie sank into postpartum depression. He was told it wasn't unheard of, and that most women suffered from the unkind phenomenon after giving birth. But long days passed, and his girl didn't seem to get her strength back. She was still fatigued and tensed.

He told himself that when Rose gets a bit older, sleeps entire nights and starts teething, then, maybe, Marie will also bounce back into her joyful self. Right now, something about her was just, off. Didn't seem right. It had him worried to know she should have been much better by now.

But looking at Rose, at everything he had, he just refused to put too much thinking into it.

It will get better, they just needed some time.

Right now, he planned on simply enjoying being with his baby girl.

He thanked Marie over and over, for gifting him with this greatest wonder. Rose was his whole world, his reason for living; she was his day and night and in his constant thinking.

He suggested Marie that in a few months, they can try and bring Rose a play-mate.

She didn't seem overly enthusiastic by the idea.

Ben told himself it was probably too early. They should wait a bit.

And what about a wedding? He told himself that of course, they should wed soon. Marie was expecting it, no doubt.

Maybe that was what it was all about? Him, having a child with her, without any promise of what their future brings? A sudden wave of guilt washed over him as he thought this through.

Of course. God, this is so stupid, of course Marie will want them to be married before bringing any more children.

Why didn't he consider this before?!

It wasn't at all postpartum depression; it was him being stupid, is all!

Oh, he must fix this!

It was a matter of seconds, before he decided that yes, he will surely propose as soon as he can. After finding the perfect ring, and the perfect time, of course.

A small whine from the crib hinted that someone was getting bored.

"Oh, baby Rose," He sighed, "Your father can be so silly sometimes. Trying to figure out why mom is so uptight, while ignoring the obvious. Dad is so, _so_ silly, don't you agree?"

A wide grin was his answer. "I know," he smiled, "But we will surprise her, right? I will buy her the perfect ring, and we will have a beautiful wedding. And you will be dressed up like the true princess you are"… his eyes filled with love.

Rose's eyes followed his lips, then turned to his eyes, catching on his words.

"But now", Ben continued, "We're going to finally meet my family. Your grandpa, and great-grandma, and aunt. They're all waiting to see you. They will fill you up with cuddles and bedtime stories and toys. You'll be everyone's little doll, doesn't it sound _great_?"

Rose giggled, and clapped her hands enthusiastically.

"In just a little while, we will start a new life. A better life. You'll see."

* * *

Marie woke up just before touchdown.

That was a bearable landing, unlike others they've experienced, and soon enough they have found themselves in a different country. Different behavior. Different view.

Exiting the airport didn't take long, no problems occurred.

Arriving the hall, Ben was holding the baby, and some of the bags, while Marie held onto her purse. They looked for the people in the picture, the ones waiting for them.

Ben was highly nervous. Tensed. Impatient. He felt his heartbeat quickening.

This was it. It was finally the moment.

His family.

He looked at the pictures many times, knew to whom exactly look for, in the crowd. But still, he was so nervous.

All while Marie was just bored.

And Rose was trying to adapt to the new surroundings.

Gaze moving through the lobby urgently, Ben tried to find a sign, a man waiting for him, the father he never got the chance to meet. While searching the place, he passed Rose onto her mother, concentrating on finding his family in the mass of welcomers.

"Benni?" a strangled voice called from behind him.

In a gulp, Ben turned around.

A group of four stood there, in the terminal, waiting. One of them was dressed in simple clothes, like he just returned from hard labor. On her right, stood an old lady with blonde hair, and small glasses. Next to her, was a younger woman, who seemed pleasant, with light skin and brown hair.

But all he could see was the man standing in the group's middle.

His eyes were small, his hair dark, somewhat balding. He was tall, his shoulders wide, wearing brown long pants and a simple white shirt.

His brown eyes widened, and he smiled joyfully. A smile Ben saw in the mirror every day.

He felt his entire body shaking, clumsily trying to make his legs move towards his father.

In matter of seconds, they were locked in a long, tight embrace.

Finally.

_Finally._

The women started weeping. The man who seemed like a simple worker, who turned out to be the father's best friend, Arthur, laughed out loud and joyfully tapped on the shoulders of both men.

Soon after, he was in his grandmother's and aunt's tight hug. "Dear boy", they murmured, tearfully, "How could we lose you?"

Ronald Ransone turned again to look at his only son, holding his head in both his big scratched hands, "Let me look at you, my boy!" he called, affectionately, "Oh, you've grown so big, how could your mother take you away from me, like this? What a man you are, what a man!" his hoarse voice dug into Ben's soul.

Ben knew he was tearful like a grieving old lady, but he couldn't care less. This moment was worth it all. "I want you to meet my family", he said, and the women smiled, "Marie, love, come here and see who's being waiting for us!"

Marie showed up from around the corner, holding Rose. A content breath escaped the women, "Oh, Ben! So wonderful!" they hurried to go and hold Marie, then passed the baby between them, "What a beautiful girl you have, Ben! Like a princess! Look at those eyes! Oh, and she's smiling!"

Ben smiled, so did his grandmother and aunt, making funny faces at Rose, who then released a full bellybutton laugh, which triggered a bigger wave of "Ohhhh" and "Ahhh" and "What a cutie!" from the father's close family.

They were all busy on admiring Rose, because who wouldn't admire such a responsive, friendly, happy infant?

So busy were the three on the baby, that they didn't seem to notice the exchange looks which suddenly took place between Ronald and Marie.

Ronald examined his son's mate, carefully. Her light blonde hair, her well-shaped body, he milk-like skin. Not every day you get to meet such young, beautiful women.

Marie took notice of Ransone, too. His tall figure, muscular body, strong profile.

And for the first time, since Rose was born, something awakened inside of her.

And a dangerous sparkle appeared in her blue eyes.

* * *

New York- Three weeks ago- Mid August:

A knock on the door of attorney Renee Swaid's office was heard, soon after the secretary announced their arrival.

The NYPD detective and her "whatever-he-may-be-to-her" author entered the office without delay.

It was only a matter of time until they reached her again.

She knew exactly how to play the game. Which exposed and comfortable buttons to push.

For it was only a matter of time before Ronald Ransone demands his lawyer, again. He couldn't be denied of that for so long.

The door was opened and Detective Kate Beckett and mystery writer Richard Castle, walked in.

"Good morning, Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle." Swaid's smirk, the self satisfied, gloating, malicious smirk, was so annoying, that Kate wished she could slap it away, the moment she stepped into the office.

This day just started, and she already felt worn out.

"Swaid", Beckett wasn't for taking any crap today, "Earlier this morning, Ransone demanded to see you".

"I am well aware of that".

"If and when" Beckett's eyes were like targeting arrows on a helpless prey, "he will become cooperative".

"You surprise me, Detective", said Swaid smoothly, "This isn't your first day on the job, and you know it's not how it's done. My client has his rights, and those have been violated. This isn't a dictatorship we live in."

"Maybe you missed the point, Swaid, but your guy's on remand. He is the main suspect of a first-degree murder".

"Yes, and…?"

"And was also found guilty of obstruction of justice." Castle said with a pointed look.

Swaid turned to look at him. She sighed, "Look, I respect what you're doing. Honestly, I really do. I look at this case, and I see something terribly twisted here. But you're going full gas in neutral. He gave you a reasonable explanation for his whereabouts and actions, and you didn't bother to look into any of it."

"We checked on every lead he gave us".

"Not true. You haven't checked on Vivian."

"Ransone's mother was the one to deliver the complaint to begin with! She was the one to first come up and say that there was something off with Marie."

"And Ben"?

"Ben's vanished".

"And? You don't think that's weird?"

"Listen, Swaid," Beckett's patience was wearing thin, "If your client really has nothing to hide, then he should cooperate with us. Simple. End of story. The censorship got the order to drop this one out in less than two days. The last thing we want is battles about whose head's going to be chopped off first."

Swaid seemed to reconsider, "Ok, fine. I'll help you with Ronald. I'll do my best to make him see reason, but don't hang up your hopes too high. You should know, he did NOTHING under my guidance up till now. Your pressure simply doesn't affect him. At all. I must say, I have been doing this job for 17 years, a client like Ransone I have never met. The most interesting suspect and case I ever came by".

"You seem to be enjoying this," Kate said, disgusted.

"This profession makes life much more interesting, detective", said Swaid, the smug smile reappearing.

"Yes, only that this is no game. Ronald Ransone ruined lives. He must be held responsible for it. And I'll see to it," Beckett's tone was of determination, "You can be sure as hell, that I'll see to it!"

The lawyer's look was one of amusement.

"It was nice seeing you again, Detective."

* * *

New York- Four years ago:

It's been a little more than three weeks since Ben, Rose, and Marie found their new dwelling in Ronald's home. Not in his mansion, this one was under current construction. He had this spaced apartment in the city, which was big enough, though.

Each morning Ronald Ransone and Ben will go out to work in the father's company, And Marie would have stayed home to take care of Rose. The hyperactive baby was so full of life, and joyful, it was hard to keep up with her, sometimes. Late at night, the men would come back, to find Marie exhausted.

So wishing to help, Vivian, Ransone's mother, would come up almost every day to take Rose to the playground, sometimes in her stroller, to just go outside and let Marie have her inner peace.

Coming back, they would find Marie many times tossed on the couch, with a migraine or other health problems.

Vivian did notice, that Marie, most of the time, hardly left her "homey" cloths at all during the day. Vivian found that to be somewhat odd. She believed it was inappropriate that when coming from work, Ben, and especially her son, need to find her in tiny shorts and tank top. She thought that when knowing the men are coming home, she should at least put some clothes on, infront of Ronald, at least. A man she just got to know.

When finally gathering up the courage to point that out to her, the response was a simple wave of a hand. Indifference.

Tonight, though, she decided to act a bit modestly, and change her clothes. In fact, she changed to her most official fancy ones. The boys came back earlier than usual, this evening, celebrating Ransone's promotion at the office.

They brought warm meals, bread, and wine.

When returning home, Marie was in front of the television, Rose playing on the rug. When noticing her father's familiar figure, her small mouth starched into a huge smile. Immediately, Ben scooped her up, covering her plump cheeks with kisses, taking joy on hearing her laugh.

He played with her for long minutes, meanwhile Maries was preparing dinner.

Then everyone sat down to eat.

"They said they plan on transferring the workers into the first floor", said Ben, his voice filled with self importance, "Dad came up with the idea to change the plant's design, construct it, the current project will be successful just like the previous one." His fork dug into the dressed chicken breast and he chewed loudly, "Now, we could come home at decent hours and spend more time together. Rose misses us as a family," he turned to look at his playing daughter on the rug, "Don't you, baby?"

The small child, hearing her father's voice, sent a toothless smile to him, an accumulation of drool escapes from her mouth onto her chin, "Daddy's princess" he praised her, then turned to concentrate again on the fried rice.

"I'm glad", said Marie, not looking at him.

Rose, on the carpet, took a small lego cube in her tiny hand, and slammed it into the floor, over and over, enjoying hearing the noise.

That _did_ get Marie's attention, "Rose, Arrête de le faire!" she called in an angered voice.

The toddler stopped immediately, sending her mother an almost scared look.

Marie's gaze returned to the table, "I'm so happy we'll get the chance to be a real family, now", she said in an unresolved tone.

Vivian looked at her strangely.

The rest of the evening went on in complete silence.

* * *

"Mia Ransone?"

"Speaking".

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD".

*Sigh*

"This is the fifth time I get a call from you, in the last two days. What can I help you with, detective?"

"This is also the fifth time, unfortunately, that your sibling sends us to you, saying you are the one to speak with if we find out what's going on here."

"I already told you, I have no idea what my brother did that day. I haven't spoken with him in months. Not since the last time I spoke with Ben."

"And when was that"?

"Four months ago, give or take".

"Where did he call you from?"

"I have no idea. And frankly? I don't care and it's none of my business either. Listen, detective, two FBI agents dropped by at my house today. Freaked the hell out of my little boy. I honestly can't help you, guys. Honest? Damned be the day I ever heard of Ben and Marie. For all I care, they can both just fuck off and die. And my brother too, for that matter.

"Miss Ransone…"

"Ben disappeared, detective. Completely vanished off of the radar", Mia Ransone was quickly losing her patience, "Why do you think that is? For the same reason I want the cops to vanish out of my life, too. It's only a matter of time until they start trashing my ex-husband and me. Are you people trying to ruin our lives, too? To add to what the media is trying to do to us?"

"Miss Ransone, we're trying to solve a MURDER case here, do you understand that?"

"I read you perfectly clear, detective. And it pains me, it really does, _believe me_. You have _no_ idea how much. The family is tainted forever over this. But I just can't help you."

"We have to find her".

"I get that, but I swear to God, I don't know what happened to her".

"She's dead, Mia. It's a _murder_ case".

Silence went through the line, suddenly.

"Last time I spoke with my brother, was about 4 months ago. My older sister contacted me about the same time, said that she spoke with Ronny, and that he asked her something that seemed strange to her. It was during that time that I last heard from Ben, as well, or maybe it was later? I dunno…. I just remember he asked me questions, questions I had no answers to. But my sis….she told me about Ronny's request…"

She knew that moment that if she ratted on her brother, she's dooming him forever. No taking back the words.

But it was not a matter of brotherly devotion; it was a matter of justice.

"What did your brother ask for, Mia?"

And so, she told her.

* * *

New York- Almost four years ago:

It was a hot night in the family's house. Vivian left almost 3 hours before, after bringing Rose back home. The child was still suffering high fever, and her father stayed in her room to comfort her.

Rose was given her own room a week ago, under Marie's request. She slept entire nights now, didn't cry much, for the parent's obvious joy, so it was pretty clear that she can handle being treated in her own baby-room.

Yesterday, suddenly, Rose became ill, her fever rose, everything hurt. "It's the teeth," Ben thought, a phase to come and pass soon. But although knowing that, it still broke his heart to see his precious baby shoving her tiny fingers into her mouth, tried to ease the pain in her gums, her eyes filled with tears of distress, like saying, "Help me, it hurts so much".

Marie was already in bed, and Ben stayed next to Rose, gently caressing her forehead, passing his own fingers in her silk-like blonde curls, "Baby, I know it's painful, but close your eyes, try and sleep", he whispered, trying to sing her a soft French lullaby, the same one his mother used to sing to him when he was young and sleepless. Rose looked at him with round, tearful eyes, handing onto his singing. After nearly 30 minutes, her eyelids fluttered and she began to finally drift off, her sapphire eyes being slowly closed, as sleep finally took over.

"Sleep, my angel," Whispered Ben, "Daddy will stay with you until you're completely calm and restful. Don't be afraid. Daddy's here". He continued caressing her forehead, "Daddy's here…Don't be afraid…"

His entire life he will give to this child, if needed.

Behind him, a small figure peeped through the room's almost closed door, and then faded away.

It tapped down the stairs, figuring Ben will stay in the child's room longer, the coast's clear.

"Ronny," A whisper came through the shadows, "Ronny, it's ok, he's in Rose's room".

Behind the curtain, Ronald's figure came into view, into the hallway. One hand he pulled towards the figure, pulling it towards his bedroom, closing the door behind.

His eyes met the blue Sapphires of Marie Charlotte. He smiled.

With one forceful move, he pulled Marie into him, his mouth covering hers. A soft moan escaped from her throat, while she was searching for his shirt's buttons. Few seconds after, he was pulling off her shirt, cupping her perfect breasts, his thumb passing over her left nipple.

Marie hissed in pleasure.

Pulling him to look at her for only a moment, her lustful yearning eyes hypnotized him, "My love," she whispered, "Finally, alone! I have waited for this moment for long days, now!"

"Me, too", Ronald's voice sounded agonized, "Was so hard seeing you there, not being able to touch you!"

His lips were again on hers, her pants soon dropped to the floor. She felt his soft organ hardening, demanding the impulse only Marie knew how to take care of.

In a fast shove, Marie was on his bed, his mouth reclaiming hers, his hands taking off her bra wildly. His right hand was then sent between her legs, Ronald smiled. She was already so wet and ready for him.

Her sighs and moans urged him to continue.

He unzipped his pants, took off his boxers, his erection warm, violent, demanding. Her hand found his shaft, feeling the throbbing member in her hand vibrating in pure lust and need. She smiled up at him, guiding his meat into her opening, pushing him in with one, hard shove.

They both moaned quietly at the contact.

"Oh, Ronny, my precious, I love you," whispered Marie in adoration, again and again, while he kept pushing inside, as deep as he possibly could. Once, twice. Three times.

He bit her right shoulder softly, wishing he could somehow mark her, make sure she was really his, that it wasn't some dream.

Making love to her was so good, he could hardly hold on, "Marie," He groaned, feeling his climax nearing quickly.

Her eyes sparkled, "Oh, love…" she pushed him closer to her body, refusing to let go.

His orgasm came with hers, and Marie's eyes drew stars in the ceiling. Ronald's manly body was tingling with satisfaction. Marie was so beautiful, he thought. So feminine. Angelic.

Why was that his son had to have her?

Speaking of said son, Marie's eyes searched his in desperation, "Ronny", she whispered, her slight French accent was such a turn on for him, "I can't keep doing this," she said, sadly, "I can't keep this up. We must tell him".

Ronald was shocked; his first instinct was to protest, 'What? Telling his own son he wishes to have his woman? No way, this is crazy!' he thought.

"I just can't keep living like this," Marie's silky voice broke his heart, though, "I can't keep sleeping in the same bad with him. Rose looks at me, and all I see and think of, is you. This must stop".

Ronald thought deeply, "What should we do?" he asked.

"Ben," Marie murmured, "Back to his mother's house in France. Let him go back home. I want you. I don't want to have him anymore in my life. Don't want to see him".

Ronald just gave her a long look, trying to decide on whether she's serious or not. If she does desire and want him, just like he does, just like he did, since the first moment he first saw her.

He looked at Ben, and the envy burned him. That is all he has ever truly wanted.

Marie's eyes spoke. This is what she truly wants.

And of course, she is allowed to change her mind, isn't she?

The sweetest smile appeared on Ronald's face, his long softening organ still warm inside her, warming her. "If so," he said quietly, secretly, in a promise, "Marry me, my Marie, and let us start new life. Without Ben".

Marie's eyes glistened, overjoyed, she pulled him in for a long kiss, "Of course", she said, "This life will be ours now. Ben doesn't have a place in them. It's us, and no one will keep us apart".

He smiled, happy to hear that, "No one".

* * *

As expected, the "coming out" wasn't easy.

Ben was furious. Enraged. He cursed. He tossed things.

Right in his face, they told him that.

Marie and Ronald.

Having sex. Promising themselves a bright future.

A future in which he, Ben, didn't fit in, apparently.

A future which he promised Marie not that long ago.

At the moment they came out about their romance, he cursed the second he told his mother that she was the wicked one and his father the 'misunderstood being'.

Beatrice was so right. How foolish he had been, not listening to her.

"Your father was a womanizer," she told him, "Took girls' bodies but destroyed their souls. You should stay away from him, Benjamin".

But my Marie you wanted, dad? Out of all the girls, you had to have _Marie_?

Her face, the pride in her voice when she told him she wants his father, not him, and not only that, but that they were engaged! That she dreamed of her 'Ronny' at nights, the same nights he spend kissing and caressing and comforting Rose…

That voice held no regret or compassion, that voice was gloating, injuring, humiliating!

How could he have NOT noticed it before?

"Go back to France, Ben," She told him, her tone ridiculing him, mocking him, taking joy over his tragedy, "Go home to your mother, get out of our lives".

He knew he had no choice but doing so. At that moment, the moment he came face to face with the most horrible truth in his life, he cursed everything and everyone. He cursed Marie, his betraying father, this house, and this city. He cursed America, and life itself.

Only one tiny, pure, innocent person, he didn't curse at all.

Which is why, along with the horrified shock, he also felt slight flutters of relief when Marie spat mercilessly, with iron voice, "And take Rose with you. She's yours. Do whatever you want with her. I don't want her here, either. Just take her, and get out".

And at the same night, when Rose turned 11 months, Ben left on the first flight to Paris, losing any kind of contact with Marie and his father, saying goodbye, forever.

Rose looked at him, questioningly, not understanding but feeling something changed, a slight whimper coming out of the tiny mouth, and not wishing to see her cry, he passed a hand through her soft hair, "It's just us now, baby-Rose. Don't be afraid," he said as he came down the stairs, "Daddy's with you… Don't be afraid…."

* * *

**A/N- confused? About the time jumps, and what the hell does one thing has to do with the other? I get that! But it will all start making sense real soon, word!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Paris, France- 2 and a half years ago:

Jeniffer woke up to the sounds of a tiny creature's cries.

It was THAT day of the month, and she was more than just tense.

She dragged herself out of bed, slowly, only to find the other side of the bed vacant.

Ben already woke up.

He always does, before her.

She knew he liked to get his early start these days, will go out jogging, just to release tension, before leaving for work.

'He was supposed to be loaded', Jeniffer told herself, tiredly. 'Inheritance from his mother, much wealth from his father, before he suddenly disowned him'.

What a lousy joke.

She hopes she'll get her fair share once they're married, and the little brat is finally off to a boarding school or a monastery. It was, after all, logically assumed.

But things changed.

Right from the start he was a very overbearing man. Tempered. Impatient.

His mother told her, that for many years, he used to be a soft and very caring person, especially with this little imp, Rose.

But he suffered an unforgettable betrayal by his ex-whore-lover-fiancée, and a father, who, apparently, was nothing but jealous of his endless youth and good looks, and took his lover away from him, and denied ever having a son.

No need to say, Ben had issues.

She didn't mind that much, as long as Ronald Ransone didn't cut him off completely, at first. That didn't work out nicely. And God knows, after a good shag, men always want you to listen to their inner conflicts. And she was a good listener.

That was no problem.

As long as it pays off.

And Rose? Eh, she was a matter of unimportance.

Even Ben understood that, by now.

He saw her mother in her, which what it was all about.

He kept saying that each passing day, he could see Marie's mocking gaze, in Rose's eyes. At first, he was enamored with his daughter, spoiled her to no end, bought her everything, and his affection to her was limitless. But then, he was disinherited, and lost the job open-space to some weirdo from Montesson.

He lost his place, and half of his assets and property.

All thanks to the loathsome woman who taunted him through the eyes of a 2 year old.

She could tell that even though Rose was his whole world, in those same days he could see Marie's shadow in her, he ended up cursing that child.

Having difficulty loving her.

She was a witnessing eye to "educational spankings" Ben used to give her, when he was drunk or cross.

This house smelled. She couldn't wait to get rid of it; this entire neighborhood was a dumpster. This is not what she signed up for.

So, why did she stay with Ben, anyway?

Oh. Right.

He was great in bed.

Some nights, they stayed up until they're completely spent, Jeniffer's vocal cords overused from all the screams, as she felt his massive manhood stretching her, his growls filling the dusty room, their bodies covered in sweat, Ben's eyes furious.

Feeling like he has something to prove.

Yup, definitely worth staying for.

But wasting your life for a satisfying ride, which is most likely to end badly? Pfft, fairly unlikely! She spent the last weeks considering this.

For the sake of honesty, he DOES 'invest' everything he has left in her, and thinking of it, it's either THAT or finding herself again with her pimp.

She shuddered.

No, not gonna happen.

So, either way, Ben was not the worst of choices, right?

Riiight.

She would stay, maybe.

Even if it meant waking up every morning to his daughter's wails.

Another spanking. Another slap on the tiny hand, or noisy mouth.

Another nightmare about Marie and Ronald.

"Why don't you just put her in a school, or something?" Jeniffer pleaded him, for the umpteenth time.

"I don't want to", he said, again, "Who knows what they'll do to her, there? She'll end up screwed, they'll shove funny ideas into her head".

"And your education?..." she barked in reproach, "All those spankings? What are these standing for? _Love_?"

"I love Rose," Ben insisted.

"I know, but for years you're on edge. You're hitting her. One day, your attitude will get you locked up in some trashy prison. Just, get over it, Ben. I can't hear her cries, anymore. It makes me jumpy. And what will the neighbors say? We'll get arrested, both of us".

Ben kept quiet.

And she had to deal with headaches, every day.

That morning, it began, again. She woke up to the sounds of the toddler's tantrum, from the kitchen. Still half asleep, she forced her tired body out of the bed, to go get dressed and brush her teeth.

Entering the kitchen, she could tell Rose was not going to give up on her morning rage, anytime soon.

And Ben? He kept insisting; "Rose, you need to take the drops! You want the Pneumonia, again?!" he was obviously furious, trying to force her mouth open, only leading to more tears, and a painful shriek cut through the room.

The child was under no condition, giving up, "Beurk!" she insisted, closing her mouth tightly, her lips stretching into a thin line, "Yucki! Noo!"

Losing all remaining patience, Ben smacked her mouth, in a fuming voice demanding, "Open mouth, Rose, NOW!", ignoring the burst of renewed cries.

Finally accepting that her father meant business, the infant opened her mouth, and the sticky sour medicine slid down her tongue.

"Daddy mean, mean!" she pushed him off of her, away from the high-chair, all teary eyed, her cheeks flushed-red and angry.

Ben's impatient look then turned into desperation. He felt like crying, himself.

What is he doing to his baby? Why must he act this way? Looking into her scared eyes, her pouty lips, he cursed himself. 'This is not ok', he thought, 'This isn't right'…

He doesn't want to spank her. To scare her.

Without Rose, what will he do? He'll be miserable, lonely. Sink back into the booze and sorrow, and most likely be found one day hanged from a tree.

In a frustrated sigh, he sat next to her high-chair, right next to the table's corner, "Rosie, forgive me, my beauty", he whispered in a much softer voice, "You're right, daddy is mean. Daddy's bad, and pissed, and angry at the entire world. But it's not your fault, my angel. Never was…"

Rose's eyes met his, her cries calming down, turning into small sniffs and hiccups.

In that moment, Jeniffer chose to let her presence known.

Damn them. Damn them, both. It could be just so much easier if that kid will just…go away.

Rose was a serious handful. A headache. A trouble-maker.

But at the same time, Jeniffer felt sorry for her.

Almost.

"Don't fool yourself, Benni", she said, feeling that honesty was the best tool, "You've been upset for months, and even if you say it isn't, we both know that's she's the reason", her eyes falling on Rose, "And even if you say you won't, you will beat her, again".

Ben's eyes turned furious, 'No', he thought to himself, 'but I might just beat you, and you won't get back on your feet that quickly!'

But in his heart, he knew that she had a point.

"Don't hate me for being honest, Love," Jeniffer purred, "I know you, and see how you behave," he voice then grew serious, "That blonde bitch dumped a serious package on you, babe, admit it. And don't get me wrong, I'm trying", she leaned on the table, "But Ben, I am _not_ her mommy dearest. That's not my job. And what will you do once I'm out of your hair? Who will stay to put up with all your shit, ha?"

Her words were harsh, reproaching.

"Put her in a boarding school. Or a monastery. Jesus will take care of her better, trust me".

"Watch it, Jenni."

"Oh, for _fuck's sake_, stop being all _Drama_ Queen, will you?" she barked, then pulled out a beer bottle out of the fridge, kicking the door closed, "you know you have self-control issues. Just look at this brat, she's scared shit, not knowing when your next 'Green Hulk' attack's gonna be".

His eyes returned to Rose, whose blue-eyes lost their laugh, long ago.

"I am not sending her anywhere", he determined, "Rose is staying with me."

"So she can become your punching bag every time you decide to finish up another bottle?" Jeniffer accused, "Sorry, precious, it doesn't work like that with me. She's staying? Sure thing. Let her stay. But don't count on me staying to see what comes outta her. Or you, for that matter. There's a limit to what I'm willing to put up with," she said, exiting the room, "Make sure that social services don't catch up on those bruises, you would wanna avoid their questions," she said on her way out, living to pack up her things.

He didn't see her again, after that night.

* * *

Jeniffer was a prophecy completing itself.

At nightfall, the Pneumonia came to revisit. The medicine didn't ease Rose's suffering, this time.

The toddler began screaming, no spank or slap would calm her down, nothing soothed or distracted her from the tormenting agony her body went through.

At dawn, it was obvious that her condition is worsening. She was limp in his arms, and had some serious trouble breathing.

Soon enough, Ben took her into the closest private hospital.

They injected her with antibiotic and fluids, and let her rest on the small bed.

Then they noticed the bruises.

Two police-officers came, and took him to the station.

His pleas of not leaving Rose, were not answered. They threatened him, they forced him out of his daughter's room, they took him into questioning.

'Where are all those bruises from?', 'Did you abuse your daughter?', 'How many times a day will you lose control?', 'What will you do to her once it happens?'

He confessed to every truth he held within, but denied any kind of abuse. Only spankings and small smacks. On the mouth, on the hands, some yelling, maybe...

So how do you explain all those marks?

She fell…toddlers always fall…

They didn't believe him. But his place offered no concrete evidence of any abuse or abusing tools.

But the most needed and obvious evidence, was Rose herself.

The fact that she would start screaming for no reason, not speak very often, hardly laugh, small body covered in internal bleeding marks…

'A child in distress', the hospital's psychologist described her, 'A fearful, uncommunicative, troubled child…'

They refused to retrieve Rose.

He refused to accept the verdict, "You won't take my child away from me!" he struggled, "She's my daughter, she should be with me!"

But a deafening apathy was his answer.

Because Jeniffer was a prophecy completing itself.

A week after Rose's hospital treatment, they received a warrant demanding Ben handing over his daughter to the social services, from there, she will be passed into children's shelter. An orphanage.

From there, hopefully, she will be sent into an adoptive family.

They didn't even let him have his goodbyes.

Ben hated them.

But he was helpless against the system.

Instead, he had to watch how his precious, and terrified-out-of-her-bones child, is seated inside a black vehicle, and taken into the unknown.

And that was the last time he saw her.

* * *

New York- 10 days ago, Early September

Katherine Beckett woke up in a bad mood. A seriously bad not-taking-crap-from-anyone, grouchy-out-of-her-skin, kind of mood.

She was all a bundle of nerves, something which happened very often in the last two weeks.

She didn't bother turning on the radio, or television, knowing perfectly well, what she's going to hear and see.

She picked up her cloths quickly, matching stilettos, light make-up, and on her way she was.

She hurried to her car, like every day, hoping against hope that the regular rush-hours and traffic jams won't slow her down too much, on her way to the precinct.

Her phone buzzed, suddenly, "Beckett", she said in a tired voice.

"Ransone asked to see the detectives working on this case, especially", Esposito didn't bother with greetings, "And…He asked for Melanie, too".

"Well, that's new", Thought Beckett aloud.

"I think he might be tired of his own crap, and ready to make a deal." Esposito answered.

"Not if he believes he takes Marie down, with him", warned Beckett.

"I don't think that's the case, this time," Said Esposito, "Anyhow, you should get over here ASAP".

"I'm on my way", she concluded, and hung up.

Entering the car quickly, the engine growled, and she left the parking lot.

The roads were slow. She could very well tell the police presence was reaching a new record; the streets were more crowded with them.

Unlike earlier this month, nobody wondered why, it was obvious what they were looking for.

Sure enough, she took the right turn on the junction leading to the precinct, could hardly wait for what Ransone had to say this time, when…

_Shit_.

Reporters.

A whole pack of them, to be exact.

Standing right next to the entrance, ready to pounce on every unlucky cop trying to muddle through their questions and flashing cameras.

Who called the damn reporters?!

With an impatient sigh, she parked the car, and tried to enter the station, when-

"Detective Beckett, Detective Beckett!"

So much for _that_ plan.

She shut her eyes for a second, trying to gather her composure, "Detective, What does Ransone has to say for us, today? Is he planning of admitting the charges?" a squeaky blond reporter asked, shoving her microphone right into Beckett's face, ignoring her aggravated stare.

"Detective Beckett, has the police dismissed the testimony of the girl from Queens?" another reporter, male, wearing thick glasses and looking like he just got out of college, tried his luck to be the one being finally getting answers.

"Detective Beckett, will Ransone's admission rule out the other leads on the investigation?"

"No comment," Beckett tried to get to the stairs, not at all an easy task.

"Detective Beckett, was it ruled out that Ransone was getting payments from global-terror organizations?"

Wha…Terrorism? Since when was it about terrorism to start with? Where do they get their information from?

"Detective Beckett, are there any plans to charge Ransone with the Swan murders?"

Eh….Hua?!

"Detective Beckett…Is-"

"Alright, that's enough!" she could hear one of the cops in current shift barking, and thanked him silently, "Everybody, lets clear the passage, and take one _giant_ step back! Or else I'm gonna book all of you, and I aint kidding, here!"

Becket's thought kept running around her head once she entered the precinct, and then she noticed Castle.

Something fluttered in her belly for a second, but she couldn't weight on it, now. By the looks of him, he, too, seemed "all business" today. "Beckett," he ran to her, out of breath, smiling, "He's right there, with Melanie."

"Already?" she asked, surprised.

"Oh yeah, and he's quite chatty today, too." Ryan and Esposito approached them.

Right when she was about to say something, a tiny woman came out of the interrogation room. She was short, her hair black and curled, but the tiny-feminine impression one might get when seeing her forfirst time, was very deceiving.

Special detective Melanie Spancer.

They used to call her 'The Bulldog'.

Comforting.

Now, she was smiling, a very dangerous smile, that is, with the look of "I just won the big prize".

"And…Well?" the four wanted to know.

"He sent us to the Hudson river" she said.

All good-mood-vibe they were getting, drained at once. They all sighed simultaneously.

What's the big news? He sent them over there twice, already.

And it turned out to be a huge time-waste.

"_However_", Melanie clicked her tongue, emphasizing, "Not to the same spot".

Becket's eyebrows frowned, she exchanged looks with Ryan and Esposito. Castle looked considering.

"What do you think, Spancer?"

Her smile slowly faded, and a serious, exhausted, sincere look appeared, instead, "If you ask me," she said hoarsely, "I think he just wants to get this over with".

* * *

**The next chapter will make things much more clear, to those confused. It was probably one of the toughest for me to write, and will touch some sensitive issues.**

**Thanks for all those who keep up.**

**Please Read&Review.!:)**


	5. Chapter 4

***Dedicated with much love

To Rose***

* * *

"Hush now, child

Don't cry, small jewel

Tears no help command

This pain, callous people

Would never understand

Still, things frozen melt, remember

And cold winds to warmth surrender

Future bring a smile

So calls your child"...

* * *

**Second Part: Rose**

**Chapter 4:**

Normandie Region, France, nearly 2 years ago 

The orphanage at the west corner of the small village was full and crowded, and children at all ages sat down to have their morning meals.

It was a cold October day, and the hearth sent light warmth into the hallways.

Children moved along, some of them leaving their daily chores and plays to sit down to eat; chats, cries, and footsteps could be heard all over the place.

Right outside, a black vehicle came to edgy halt, almost shattering the expensive 'Stella Maris' statue placed on the lawn. Exiting the car were two women, a man, and a small girl, not yet three years old.

The orphanage's headmistress, a skinny middle-aged woman, with pursed lips and stern face, received them inside.

Social services people were they, and they were sent to inform her, that a new minor will be staying at the children's institution.

Her name is Rose, they said. She is motherless, taken from her father's custody, after said father apparently abused her.

There are no demands for her, they said in boredom, and that is why she's here.

She rose up from behind the table to have a better look at the child in question, noticing immediately the tensed and scared look, eyes wondering about in discomfort, searching for…God knows what.

The headmistress' eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she held her peace.

After some arrangements were completed, and filed were signed, Rose became an official resident at the children's shelter.

But for her, the journey barely started.

* * *

Days passed, and Rose began to show signs of distress.

At the tender age of 3, Rose hardly participated in the children's activities, and preferred to stay in her small corner, playing with her dolls, or drawing on the floor with some chalks she located.

It was prohibited for the children less than 7 years to hold chalks, so she had learned from the headmistress, a very physical and painful lesson was that.

Being used to physical education, and a burning palm on her soft skin, Rose didn't cry, which only enraged the headmistress even more.

She would spend hours and days in complete silence, hardly saying a word, and wet herself oftentimes, something which brought out constant mockery and derision from the other children.

They would make fun of her, sneer at her, pull at her hair, humiliate her…

And the adults will settle for a slap or a spank, or a well-deserved long time-out, and that's it.

Nobody in this place took the time to talk to her. She wouldn't answer, anyway.

And nobody wanted to play with her, either, with the cry-baby who's peeing in bed.

After nearly two months, the stone-hearten headmistress, Rose didn't bother to try and learn her name, even- decided that the new-comer did not fit in properly, was a serious pest and trouble maker, and therefore, should be transferred to a different orphanage.

* * *

Rose found herself in a different children's shelter right before Christmas. On March, she was again transferred to a different orphanage, and on July the same year, she was put into a fourth residential care.

The latest was more modern, the walls were colored new, stairs weren't creaking, the rooms not overcrowded. Only girls were allowed in.

Some of the girls were about her age, and they used to call her to play with them.

Although being almost completely uncommunicative, mostly staring at the walls, humming to herself, or just playing with the dolls quietly, at some occasions, Rose found herself feeling safe enough to join the other girls in their plays, and even though some of the girls didn't know how to behave around the strange new arrival, they were glad on every girl joining their tea-parties, no matter who it was.

The headmaster of this orphanage, comfortably enough, was an American pastor, Father Jones. He moved to France in his early twenties, and later on, found God.

He treated the girls with tolerance, as much as possible, and did not advocate the method of pure physical education, like in previous residences Rose was taken out of.

January approached, and Rose found that the new place wasn't that horrible. When being asked questions she answered with "Oui" and "Non", will reach out to take the governess' hand, instead of running to hide in the wardrobe each time she spotted her in the corridor, and instead of staring at the wall for what seemed like hours, she'd go outside, run about in the yard, and play tag with the rest of the kids.

It was mid-January, when a phone-call came in.

A woman, with tiny-old voice, a widow named Isabelle Daye, claimed to be Rose's grandmother, asked to receive her into her custody. The request sounded peculiar to Father Jones, at first. He was informed that the child Rose has no family which takes interest in her, or capable of caring for her. He asked to meet Isabelle, check out her details, for a man receiving a child won't just give her away offhandedly, right?

Isabelle was fully cooperative; In their conversations, she sounded like a very collected, pleasant woman. He wondered why she called just now, and where did she disappear off to, for more than 3 years.

He invited her to come and see Rose, and take notice on how she behaves, and the way she socializes with the other children. Isabel was pleased with the offer, and agreed to come and unite with Rose.

It was agreed that she'll come on January 21st, probably late afternoon. She gave the description of a blond woman, her eyes blue, and her voice quiet.

"Thank you", she concluded their conversation, "I wasn't the best mother in the past," she admitted, "but the least I can do is care for baby-Rose. I can't accept the thinking that's she is raised an orphan, if she at least has me…"

The kind priest seemed understanding, and agreed that if a child has a stable family, it's always best to be with said family, instead of growing up in an institution.

On that January morning, Madame Brigitte came into the main girls' room, and found some of the girls playing near the window. Some of the girls were downstairs, in their morning classes. She found Rose sitting on the floor, her two favorite dolls in hand, and she's humming sweet nothings to the puppets.

Hearing Brigitte approaching, a tiny smile, a rare one, that actually reached her eyes, became visible on the child's face. Brigitte smiled back at the toddler, knelt beside her, and gently picked her up from the floor to stand and look at her; "Rosie", she said in a caressing voice, "you know that today, your grandmother comes to see you? She can't wait to get to know you…"

Rose's glance seemed curious, yet unfocused, "Grandmère?" she queried coyly.

"Yes, Princess," Brigitte confirmed. Rose was her pet, favorite among the new toddlers, it will sadden her to say goodbye, "She will nurse you and look after you, and you'll behave and be very kind to her, right?"

To that, Rose was quick to respond, nodding her head repeatedly, "Oui," a small jump caused Brigitte to laugh, lovingly caressing the child's silky hair, "Grandmère…Oui".

"Good girl," Brigitte praised, pulling from under the bed two tiny dresses that came with Rose that day. One, colored in light pink, a button-shirt and a tiny skirt, the second, a simple white dress. Rose pointed at the pink outfit wordlessly, along with the burgundy matching hat.

"Now," Brigitte smiled kindly, "Lets get you dressed".

* * *

After finishing up her oatmeal without staining her clothes, Rose was summoned into the waiting room, where she was to wait till the afternoon, to finally meet her grandmother.

Black doll-shoes to her feet, the caregivers were all running about and rearranging her hair, shirt, bags, making sure nothing was out of place, this visit must go smoothly.

Surprisingly enough, those were not the afternoon hours in which the doorbell chimed, alerting of a guest arriving.

But barely two hours after the child was called into the families' waiting room.

Astonished, but not at all unwilling to serve, the caregivers attended the wooden door in a heartbeat.

Brigitte and Anna, the head caregivers, called Rose in, and holding the child's hand, Brigitte came into the main hall, to bless the visitor. The young girl seemed on edge, her governess knew her enough to tell, even though she, as usual, didn't express any emotion in words.

At the entrance, indeed, stood a small blond woman.

Her eyes shining blue, her figure lean, she bowed her head in politeness.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," Said the woman to the priest in charge, nodding to the governesses in acknowledgement.

They nodded back in politeness.

Then, the woman's eyes passed to Rose, and something glittered in them, "Is that…?-" she began.

"Yes, indeed," the pastor confirmed solemnly, "I guess there is no need to ask if Madame came in regard of the child Rose…"

"Oh, yes, of course," the pretty woman answered, "Unfortunately, I only recently got the word of her being moved between institutions, due to her father's constant abuse. I couldn't possibly leave her without a family. Rose should be with me," her eyes returned to observe the child, who tried to hide behind Brigitte's long apron.

"Madame….Eh, Isabelle Daye, I presume?" the priest needed to make sure.

The woman stiffened visibly, "Pardon me, Sir?"

"Your name, Mademoiselle," the priest sighed, almost impatient, "Isabelle Daye?"

A serious look covered her face abruptly, "Sir must be confused", she said, "I have not seen Isabelle Daye for many years, now."

The priest cocked a suspicious eyebrow.

"My name is Marie-Charlotte Ransone," confirmed the woman at the door, "I am Rose's mother. I came to take her back with me to the United States".

* * *

After flicking through the files silently, and checking out important details, the child Rose was given to Madame Marie-Charlotte without much delays, by the Children's judge.

When being asked the inevitable question, where was she for 4 years, she answered smoothly that she truly believes her father was taking care of her properly, and that she couldn't even imagine the horrible things her daughter's been through, in all those years. In much sorrow she learned that the child was not happy with the situation, and that she must go to her at once.

"I didn't imagine, in my worst nightmares, that Rose would be so miserable. I made the biggest mistake, of letting Benjamin take her away. I was cross, and I let my anger and pain influence Rose in the worst way. It was my biggest mistakes, and I now am trying to make amends."

The judge took the time to listen to her claims, and seriously considering each fact known to him. "I was on vacation in Normandie awhile back", Marie confessed, "shortly before I got the word of Rose's condition. I thought about coming and visiting her, but I was afraid…Afraid she'll hate me, afraid she won't recognize me, that I'll be a stranger to her… I wrote Ronny letters from here, telling him about my fears…confessing about how sad I truly was without my Rose…how much I regret my mistake, that I want her with us…"

"And what did he say"? The judge asked.

"He said there was no question about it. That I shouldn't be afraid, that she's my child and she should be with me, her mother. That there is no reason why she should suffer for my conflicts with Ben".

"And then?"

"And then I heard that they're treating her badly. Causing her sorrow," she answered, "I told myself, 'What have I done'? I'll go and being her back, and she'll be happy with me, and smile again. She was such a happy baby before all this has happened, you know? Rosie has two sisters, I gave birth not long ago, I left twin girls at home to come and take Rose to be with me and get to know her siblings".

After few more question and a quick procedure, it was decided that the system sees no reason why Rose should not be taken back to her family.

There is a father waiting for them, too. Although being somewhat uncomfortable, discovering that said father is in fact Rose's grandfather, Marie assured that even though they're not the common family, there is no problem; Her Ronny admires Rose, he sold property for a flying ticket to get her back and pay whatever price needed to make sure she's back with them, he will be the caring father Rose never truly had. He loves her.

She gave the entire life-story of Ronald Ransone, documented and backed out. A wealthy man, respected, holding a respectful job, appreciated by his coworkers and employers, polite, sensitive, and with very much love for children. Responsible and logical person.

A father every child would want.

After going through the issues presented to him, something which didn't take long at all, the judge signed the papers allowing Rose to be passed into her mother's full custody.

Marie thanked him kindly, turning to hold Rose's hand, leaving the room with her. Rose looked at her strangely, doesn't understand who that woman is, what is she doing here, and where are we going, anyway?...

But she followed, because, she knew, she was expected to do so, and was used to the idea that she's passed between strangers every once in a while.

And then Rose, almost 4 years old, found herself in the hands of the woman who gave birth to her, to be passed back to the biological family she never knew, and into a foreign country she never even seen in pictures.

And only one pink pacifier she shoved into her mouth, suckling on it loudly.

* * *

New York: 7 months ago- Mid February

Arriving the states, in the waiting hall waited Ronald Ransone, his mother Vivian, his young sister, Mia, and two small infants in a stroller.

Unlike years ago, no balloons or ribbons were there to welcome the arrivals home.

Ronald Ransone scrutinized Rose from the top of his height, while her small hand held tightly into Marie's, and the parents exchanged meaningful looks. "Marvelous", said Ransone indifferently, "C'mon, lets go home".

With a short nod, Vivian and Mia blessed Marie in a 'Hello', and quickly, her full attention was on the twin babies in the stroller. She hurried to hold and kiss them, detaching herself from her firstborn. The girls giggled in excitement when spotting Marie, tried and reach her, wanting to be held.

Rose observed the scenario curiously, and then whispered, "Maman?"

Marie turned her head back to Rose, like suddenly realizing she was there as well, and spread her hand in a calling gesture to the toddler, "Come, Rose," she said in a stable voice, "come and meet your sisters".

Rose came closer to peep into the stroller, Marie holding her by the hips, pointing at one of the strollers, saying- "Lily", then with a smile, pointing at the other, "Rauschel".

"Lilllllyyyy", Rose mimicked like a parrot, trying to find some kind of meaning in the words, "Rrrraaauusscheeeeel".

She wanted to have a better look at the twins, but Marie held her in place.

"Come", she said finally, and they turned to exit the airport.

* * *

Rose was given a separated room from her sisters.

Ransone would leave for work early morning, and come back at sunset.

Marie would stay at home, with Rose and the twins.

The first days were not at all an easy mission. Rose wasn't used to living in a family, and felt confused and frustrated. The first morning, she peed in bed. With a sigh, Marie changed the cushions and clothes.

Often, Marie would ask something of Rose, only to be responded with silence, or indifference, or sometimes a simple brick wall.

When being asked something, she would answer with a simple "Oui", or "No", not offering anything else.

Sometimes, she'd start screaming, for no apparent reason. In those situations, Marie will restrain her, letting her calm down from her tantrum, but not act on actually soothing her fussing child.

At the first and second time, she did so.

At the tenth time it happened, she ignored, didn't move from the kitchen, letting Rose express her rage and frustration, not offering any solution or giving the toddler any attention.

At those days, when coming back from work, Ransone will pick the twins up, cover them with kisses and raspberries, and then offer a non-binding caress to Rose's hair.

She was a fly on the wall.

When not having a fit or a tantrum, Rose would quietly sit in the living room, playing with her dolls and mumble quietly to them. Marie will watch her every once in a while, and take joy over the silence being offered, that rare moment of quiet, without Rose's yelling or babbles. She knew that Rose can be a comfortable quiet child, she just couldn't understand why she chose time after time to annoy her.

On that day in March, Ronald came back home agitated and nervous. An argument with one of his coworkers turned ugly. He tossed himself on the sofa in front of the television, and didn't kiss or touched his wife hello.

She tried to console him, to cuddle into him like a puppy, but he was having none of it, refused her embrace and kisses today.

On the carpet, the twins were playing. Rose, trying to join in, sent Ransone a curious look every once in a while, trying to figure him out.

He didn't offer his attention back, preferred to stay focused on the television.

Suddenly, Rauschel grabbed on Rose's doll, the one she received from Brigitte, the kind caregiver in the orphanage, and began to pull at it fiercely, almost tearing apart the doll's beady eyes and her pretty dress.

Rose's face wrinkled in a helpless whimper, her eyes traveling on to her mother, silently asking her to get involved.

She wanted her doll back! Why did Rauschel take it away? She has enough toys right where she sits!

"Back!" Rose cried pitifully, tears boiling up in her eyes, reaching a hand to Rauschel, asking for her precious doll, "_Give back_!"

Marie and Ronald kept their focus on the television, Marie sending Rose an annoyed look, yet not moving an inch from the couch.

Rauschel, nearly 2 years old, did not let go of the doll, and kept pulling on it with all the strength that a persistent child in her horrible twos can offer. Rose tried to take the doll back, but Rauschel shoved her back into her spot on the carpet violently, and Rose fell on her butt, shocked and pissed.

In an angry fit, having mercy on her precious doll, the 4 year old rose up from the carpet, approached her sister again, and snatched the doll out of her grasp with an angry pout, then smacked her hand. "Mine!" she scolded Rauschel, "No ruin! _Mine_!" she concluded in cracked French.

Rauschel screamed at the smack, which immediately brought out her twin sister's cries, too.

Marie hissed in anger, horrified, and Ransone rose upright from the sofa, "Rose!" he thundered, his daughter's distress fuming him, "Give it back to her!"

"No!" she called, the fear from the tall and scary man washing over her, but she refused to back down, "Mine!" she insisted.

"Oh, yeah?" Ransone growled. In a second she was restrained in his manly arms, he picked her up, carrying her into the sided room, grabbing on her hair and pulling mercilessly, "I shall teach you discipline!" he barked.

"Ahhh!" Rose screamed in pain, trying desperately to release herself from his grip, squirming in protest and fear, to no avail, "Rauschel mean!" she cried, "Rauschel mean!" her muffled screams could be heard until the door was closed behind them.

Marie sighed and approached to calm her daughters, "No, no, my sweethearts", she hushed them, picking them up, "Mommy won't let anyone harm you, I promise".

She knew Rose had to learn limits, and although uncomfortable, she trusted Ronny to teach them to her. She can't behave like that, taking her sisters' stuff.

On the other room, Ronald was furious. Hell, that was the last thing he needed right now. Rose creeping out her sisters. He seated her on the bed fiercely, "Listen to me, Rose" he commanded.

The child insisted on struggling and weeping.

Without thinking twice, Ronald backhanded her, hard- "Listen to me, Rose!" he demanded, not kidding around, grabbing her tiny arms in both hands, making sure he has her full attention.

Her crying calmed a bit, fearing his roaring voice and what might happen if her tears continue, and she fell silent gradually.

"You misbehaved, Rose," he said in a stern voice, "Rauschel just wanted to play with you, and you hurt her".

"Rauschel mean!" Rose burst out.

"No, Rauschel is not mean, Rauschel is very little; she just wanted to play, and you smacked her. I won't tolerate you causing harm to anyone in this house, do you understand me?!" he demanded in a dangerous voice.

A frustrated wail was his answer.

Mercilessly, Ronald slapped her again, her tears reappearing, "Stop crying!" he barked, "Now, because of your behavior, you're gonna stay in this room for a time-out until I come and get you out, do you understand?!"

Rose sobbed in humiliation, offering no verbal response.

"And you're going to think very carefully about your wrong-doings, and then, you're going back to the living room, and give Rauschel a kiss and say you love her, and that you're sorry."

Rose's tearful eyes conveyed anguish and fear, but she didn't dare arguing with the scary man.

"And your doll stays with me until I decide otherwise".

That broke Rose, "No!" she yelped, her eyes wide in torment and plea, as she tried to reach for Ransone's legs, grasping them, begging, "Mine!" she wept heartbreakingly, "Brigitte dolly mine!"

He found it hard understanding her French through the tears, but he couldn't care less at that point, neither did it matter, at all. He grabbed her, detaching her from his legs wildly, like in disgust, and threw her on the bed, again. He then turned to leave the room, not giving her another look, her endless cries falling on deaf ears.

Without much delay, he closed the door behind him, locking it. Rose's distress growing, she jumped out of bed, trying to get out of the room, understanding she's trapped. "Rauschel mean!" she wailed, her tiny fist hitting the door, her leg kicking it in frustration, "Dolly mine! Maman! Maman!" she begged for Marie to come and rescue her, get her out and hold her.

But from Marie didn't come her salvation.

* * *

Ronald left the room and came back to where Marie sat, on the sofa, "She'll think about what she's done, and apologize," he concluded. She nodded solemnly and her gaze returned to her daughters, now playing on the couch, happy again.

"Don't worry," Ronald soothed, "She's not a bad child, she just doesn't understand how things work here. Don't be afraid, Love, she's my daughter and I'll take care of her. I'll make sure she'll grow up to be a good, kind and obedient child".

Marie smiled at him, "Oh, Ronny" she praised him, cuddling into him tightly, "I don't know what I would have done without you".

He smiled and held his wife back.

After a while they left the living room, Marie to the kitchen and Ronald to his office. 20 minutes passed since Rose was sent into her time-out, and suddenly, Marie could hear tapping sounds coming from the domestic room. Sounded like 'Boom'. Boom boom boom.

Tossing her head back, Marie exhaled in frustration and anger, "Rose, quit ruining things!" she called impatiently, "You're in time out!"

Boom. Boom boom.

Boom.

with another frustrated sigh, Marie put the kitchen-knife down, and turned into Rose's room. For how long will this child frustrate her? Why can't she just be _normal_? Why does Marie deserve this? Why is God punishing her?

searching for the room's key, she unlocked the door, half expecting to find it trashed. Cushions on the floor, books tossed all over, closets open and turned.

She prepared herself for scolding Rose, to teach her a lesson once and for all, when-

Surprised, she noticed the room was in the exact same state it was over 20 minutes ago. Nothing was trashed, or hinted of tantrum. All books were in place, the closets closed, nothing was thrown on the floor.

So what was that tapping noise she heard?

She got her answer when spotting Rose, on the bed, sitting in somewhat trance on the mattress, her head leaning, and then banging against the wall.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

A red mark on the forehead.

Boom.

She began muttering incoherent words, no longer sobbing, just humming, her head meeting the wall.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Marie snorted in frustration and annoyance, "Rose, quit making that noise!" she demanded, then shut the door and locked it again.

All while Rose kept torturing her body, without anyone caring.

* * *

That evening they had supper almost in complete silence.

Rose didn't squeak, just hummed into her toast and salad, And Marie and Ronald didn't urge her to say anything.

Ronald, on his part, seemed almost sad. Turning to look carefully at Rose on her high chair, he noticed her bruised forehead, and cluck his tongue, almost in pity, "Rose, what have you done to yourself?" he asked.

Rose kept on humming, not offering any answer.

Marie gave her daughter a blank, emotionless glance.

"That must be very painful," he passed his pointing finger on her forehead, the child didn't even flinch, "Why'd you do it?"

"She was mad at you," Marie offered, instead, "For punishing her".

Ronald cluck his tongue again, "Baby-Rose" he said, his tone much softer, now, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh on you, but you must understand that Rauschel and Lily are babies and you need to be more patient with them. You're not in France and there is no reason for acting like the way you did. You have a family now, no one will take away your things, we love you, Rauschel and Lily love you, too".

"Mean Rauschel" mumbled Rose, repeating the same mantra from the afternoon.

Ronald turned to Marie for help, his wife doesn't offer any emotion, "Leave her," she said, "She'll sleep on it, and tomorrow's going to be a new day".

Considering, Ronald decided she has a point, and let it go, distracting himself in his meal.

After a few minutes, he chewed out, "You changed the bedding today, again?"

Marie nodded, "Few times," she said, "They smelled of urine. Rose keeps wetting herself."

Ronald seemed thoughtful, "Maybe she needs to see someone?"

Marie huffed in impatience, rising up from the table, "I don't know what she needs" she grumbled, "All I know is that I've had it. This whole house stinks of her".

* * *

In the following days and weeks, changes were unnoticed. Rose wetted herself at least 7 times, and Marie had to exchange the bedding frequently, her patience wearing incredibly thin.

Ronald could tell there was something wrong with Rose. He tried to convince his wife, offered more than once, maybe Rose needs a treatment? Ben was very violent, and his girlfriend neglected her, too.

She needs to be with other children, he said. What about a kindergarten?

Marie ruled out the idea, "What kind of teacher will accept a 4 year old still in need of a diaper?" she sneered.

After a few seconds she commented, "Rose needs a special education system, maybe a boarding school".

Ronald's face wrinkled, "She's not autistic," he defended, "She doesn't need 'special education'. And hell knows what she'll go through in a boarding school. No, it's a bad idea, she should stay with us."

Their disagreement lasted for long days. Each passing day, he got more of the feeling that Marie is starting to have second thoughts about Rose staying with them. That she regrets bringing her home, in the first place.

Early April, Ronald's long-time friend told him that he knows of a good nanny, named Amanda Pierce. His days became longer at work, he came home late, and Marie's temporal job at the shop took much of her time, too. They could use the help.

They called Amanda in; she gave her OKs, and proved to be a good nanny, in fact. Later that month, she informed that she got into Yale, and therefore a new nanny was in order.

The end of April came soon enough, and Marie called in Vivian for help. The twins were with Mia, and Marie stayed at home with Rose.

Vivian was more than happy to spend her time with her granddaughter. As soon as she walked in through the door, she handed the toddler a big red lollipop, much to the child's excitement.

An hour later, Rose was playing with 'Brigitte Dolly' on the floor, while Marie and Vivian were in the kitchen having tea.

Suddenly, a distress whimper came from Rose, and the two women noticed she peed herself, staining her dress and the carpet.

"Rose!" called Marie, rising up from the table, approaching her oldest daughter, who looked frightened and confused. "Maman!" the child's face wrinkled in misery, "Burns! It _burns_!"

"Again, you peed all over yourself?! I told you dozen times, when you need to go, you tell me, and I take you to the bathroom, didn't I?"

The little girl's face twisted in shame and frustration, tears become visible, already.

"Now, come on, march! To the toilet!"

"No, water!" cried Rose, "Burns!"

"Don't argue with me!" Marie's voice was stern, hardhearted. She was way beyond fed up, "Get up from the floor, now!"

"Water!" begged Rose, her face turning red in agony, "Burns!"

Vivian stood aside, appalled. 'Why doesn't she listen to her baby?...' she thought to herself, 'She's obviously in pain!'

But Marie was completely sick and tired of it all, and wouldn't bother to listen. In one quick motion, she grabbed Rose's small figure, and began dragging her off of the floor, turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to her increasing cries.

With a quick move, she pushed her into the toilet, shutting the door behind them. "_Enough_!" her scolding voice filled the house, "I can't stand you any longer! Peeing in bed! Scaring the twins! Screaming all the time! Enough of that! Can't you start acting normally, and stop behaving like a _crazy girl_?"

On the other side of the corridor, Vivian stood frozen. Gawping at that door in disbelief and horror, she couldn't believe Marie's heinous act, and heartless rebukes.

'No', she thought in disgust, 'She's not a crazy child, she's a sad child whose been abused, and you don't listen to her distress. You hear yourself alone'.

If only she had the courage to spill her gut right in Marie's face.

Roses muffled cries, mixed with Marie's impatient voice, could be heard until the door was reopened, and Marie exited the bathroom with a still crying Rose in her tough holding.

With an uncompromising move, Marie threw the child fiercely into Vivian's arms, like if can't standing the thinking of touching her any longer, "Take her, Vivian!" she called ruthlessly, "Enough of this! I can't stand her any longer! What a stupid mistake I've made! Please, just, take her away! She's ruining my family! The girls are afraid of her, even!"

Vivian stared at her in shock, taking pity on Rose, pulling the small child to her chest, passing her palm on her back in a soothing motion, trying to calm the sobs and wails.

She had no doubt of Marie's seriousness, "But…what shall I do with her?"

"I couldn't care less!" Marie barked, causing Rose's body to squirm even more in her grandmother's arms, her head buried deep in Vivian's neck. There was no question, the child was beyond hapless, "I just want her out of my life, now!"

"For how long should I take her?"

"You can keep her forever, if you want!" Marie's cruel voice took no notice that her daughter was right there, hearing her words, "You adore that little demon, don't you? So keep her all to yourself!" and with that, she turned her back on them, going to clean Rose's urine from the floor and carpet.

When returning to the living-room, Marie found that they were already gone.

* * *

Vivian took Rose to her residence. Set up a room for her, bought her toys and clothes and coloring papers.

Two weeks passed since the child Rose was deposited in Vivian's arms, out of which 3 of them, she woke up into wet cushions. She seemed scared at start, of what may happen once Vivian found out, and therefor hid under the bed.

Vivian pulled her out of there a few times, but didn't reproach nor yell at her, but calmed her down, saying it's ok. She took the time to potty-train her, something she was surprised neither Marie nor Ronald bothered doing in the first place.

It seems like the bruise on the forehead is healing nicely. One day she examined it, "Hurts, Rose?" she asked gently, passing her hand over the pinky-spot.

Rose shook her head 'No'.

"Is that from head-in-the-wall?" Vivian kept asking, while undressing the child on her way to the bath.

Rose nodded.

"Oh, sweetheart," Vivian's heart broke for her, "There is no need to do that. That hurts. When something's upsetting, we just tell mommy, ok?"

Suddenly, Rose froze on the spot, sending Vivian a very meaningful look, one not suited for her age, or a tiny 80 Centimeters child. She inhaled and then said, feebly-

"Maman ne m'aime pas".

Vivian felt something shattering inside her, and held tightly into a now naked Rose- "I know, baby," she said hoarsely, "But don't worry. _Grandma_ loves you."

* * *

In those days, of Early May, Ronald called twice to ask for Rose, and check up on her.

Marie didn't call even once.

She did bother to complain to Vivian and Mia about Ronny suddenly turning aggressive. He was very tempered lately, always on edge and nervous. Marie reviled that for last 3 weeks, they've been trying a couple's therapy.

That didn't seem to go down that well.

Marie told Mia that Ronald got upset one day and hit her. He apologized later, and it seemed to be a one-time-fury-attack thing. She didn't say what got him so worked up, that he hit her.

He was always very gentle with her and his daughters.

Vivian called him that evening, and it almost seemed like the entire neighborhood heard when she let him have a piece of her mind, 'How dare you' and 'What were you thinking' and 'They'll shove your ass in jail', and 'Is that how your father and I taught you to behave?!'

From that day on, he was determined to make it up to Marie, make sure he always does what she wishes, trying to bring her nothing but joy and satisfaction, dreading the day she'll leave him, out of spite.

All meanwhile Vivian was relieved, that at least Rose doesn't have to vision this freak-show going on there. She felt like something was deeply wrong in this house, therefor didn't dare to comment on Marie's shameful negligence when it came to Rose.

It's been over a month since Rose came to say with her, and Marie didn't call to ask about her, even by mistake.

But in almost a selfish sentiment, Vivian was pleased over that fact.

Rose, even being incredibly quite girl, started to open up to Vivian. She was potty trained, now, woke up with a smile, and didn't bang her head in the wall.

It seemed like Vivian's love and patience compensated the lack of understanding at home.

Sometimes Rose called her 'Brigitte'. Vivian didn't know who was that Brigitte, but the smile on the child's face everytime she did so, hinted that it was a person with positive influence on the child, so for that reason exactly, she didn't comment on that or fixed her speech.

Vivian bought Rose two new dolls and a pacifier. A purple one, with tiny butterflies printed on it. She'll suckle on it in times of frustration, and mostly before bedtime.

Vivian was happy to discover there was absolutely nothing wrong with Rose. She was a very intelligent and friendly child. She took her three times to the playground, and Rose seemed to want to socialize with the other children.

Pushing herself up in the swings, Rose's tiny pacifier-filled mouth will stretch into the cutest smile Vivian's ever seen, one that neither Marie nor Ronald appreciated, nor understood that should be cherished, since it was rare on that child's face.

Vivian's only sorrow was that Rose's verbal development was still slow. She hardly ever said more than few words in a sentence. She barely spoke French and didn't speak English at all, even though she knew she understood.

Long days ago, Rose stopped asking about her 'Maman', figuring her mother was probably one more of those people she was handed to, with no real connection to her. As for Ronald, she didn't seem to understand at all what his place in her narrow world was.

Vivian became her world, and Rose was Vivian's.

Mia used to come every once in a while, bringing her son over to play with Rose, just so she'd interact with another child. Mia, although detached, didn't seem to mind Rose playing with her son, thought of Rose to be peculiar child, but undamaging one.

That was the routine, for grandmother and grandchild.

And then came late May.

One day, Vivian woke up feeling ill, and her condition got worse in each passing hour. The doctor diagnosed she suffered a lung disease. She was taken to the hospital, and many times had to pass checkups in the clinic. Since Rose was not registered to any educational system, she had to accompany her.

But the illness took its toll on her, and Rose's company, which at first was a blessing, became a weight which was hard to bear. It's not a place for a 4 year old, to be left among old and sick. At that very evening she called Ronald, "Come and take her back," she said, defeated "I cannot take care of her any longer…"

It seemed like an argument was taking place on the other side of the line. Ronald argued with Marie, about what should be done. Vivian guessed Marie was not at all thrilled when thinking about Rose's homecoming.

"Alright, mother," Ronald concluded minutes later, "I'll pick her up this evening".

And indeed Ronald appear that same evening, and Rose, after not seeing him many days, didn't seem enthusiastic about leaving with him. She held tightly into Vivian's robe, trying to hide from Ronald.

Even though barely standing, Vivian reached for the child in patience, "Rose, here's dad, he came to take you home to mommy, it'll be ok now," she wished to sooth the girl.

Rose looked at her with wide, begging eyes, "No," she pleaded, "No mommy," she spread her arms, wished to be picked up and held by Vivian, "Grandmère."

"I'm sorry, Pumpkin," Vivian apologized, her heart breaking to think that Rose dreaded the thought of coming back home, "But grandma is sick and it will do you no good being around her now".

It seemed the child understood, because her shoulders sagged abruptly, and she looked at Ronald in sadness. He took the girl in, she seemed taller than the last time he saw her, reaching to take her hand he said, "Let's go, Rose," and then they left the apartment.

* * *

It was a whole renewed adapting process.

Ronald seemed agitated all the time and Marie was in constant attempts to lighten him up. A murky atmosphere filled the house frequently.

On her part, Vivian began a slow healing process, calling almost every day to ask about the girls, including Rose. Was the child registered to an educational system? She's nearing her fifth birthday, she soon enough be joining school, right?

Right.

It's been 10 days since she's seen any of them.

It was already late May.

One day, Vivian came to help Marie watch over the girls. Ronald was gone.

The twins were playing cubes on the carpet, Rose was chatting with her doll. Suddenly, Rauschel, apparently bored with the game, got up, and began to toddle towards Marie.

Noticing her, Marie grinned proudly, spread her arms to the infant, "Come, my love," she cooed. And then Rauschel was in her arms, and she picked her up, covering her tiny face with kisses, triggering a full baby-laugh, warming Vivian's heart.

Soon enough Lily, the quieter twin, wished to be held by her mother as well, and began to take small unsure steps towards her.

And then Rauschel was put down, and Lily was picked up, covered with kisses and caresses, as well.

Rose, observing the scene from aside, her eyes round in yearning, tried to run to her mother, but suddenly slipped on one of Lily's cubes, falling knees down. Her face twisted in pain, and her lips quivered in an attempt to hold down sob.

Vivian waited that in her maternal instinct, Marie will let go of the babies, and kneel besides Rose to comfort her, and say it's just a fall, nothing happened.

However, Marie didn't leave her spot. Lily, still in her arms, Rauschel gawping at her curiously, the mother just stared at Rose, and with a mocking, almost gloating tone, said, "Keep crying".

* * *

In each visit, Vivian noticed things getting worse before improving. Rose returned to her silence, the bruises reappeared. On top of all that, dark circles appeared underneath her eyes, her arms, shins, thighs and shoulders filled with cruel bruise marks.

When demanding answers, Ronald spat that Rose is being cruel to her sisters, upsetting Marie, and therefor there is no solution but to make sure she's 'well educated', physically educated, and Ronald was the best of teachers, apparently.

When being asked about the not at all good looking gash on her lips, Ronald said that "It's nothing", "It'll heal".

He did admit of trying to find an educational system for Rose because, "Marie's having problems" raising her. "We thought," he considered, "Maybe we'll send her to France, to Beatrice?"

Vivian clucked her tongue, "As soon as you send her back to France, Ben will demand custody again. Is that what Marie's looking for?!"

He shrugged, "Marie doesn't want her here. She keep saying Rose mistreats the twins. That they're fussing everytime Rose's in the same room with them. You've seen yourself how she turns aggressive."

"That's because they keep taking her stuff and trashing her dolls", Vivian defended. She won't let them get away with pretending like it's all Rose's fault. For havens sake, it's _their_ fault!

"How many dolls does she have, Ronny?" Vivian protested, "Two! One Mia bought her, and one she received from her caregiver at the orphanage! That's all she has, you bought her nothing! And how many toys do the twins have? Seriously, Ronald, that child is _bored_! Why don't you keep her occupied, so she'll have no reason to be so aggressively protective of the little she does have?"

Ronald didn't answer to that. He admitted to be helpless. He tried a boarding school or a kindergarten, but a solution has yet to be found.

"We thought about a French boarding school," he then said, brooding.

"I don't know what to tell you, except that whatever solution you can come up with, come up with it now, before we all start pulling hairs."

"Marie wants to send her back to France," he insisted, "And you know that what she says- goes".

Vivian fumed, "Are you serious? Where is your word in all these? You know perfectly well that she'll suffer in France".

"Marie believes it'll do her good".

"Marie's a _twit_, Ronald!" all patience lost, Vivian huffed in fury, this whole business getting _beyond_ ridiculous. When did her only son turned into an old rug, easily lashed without response, with no dignity or word in the things done in this house?, "You are well aware of the fact that the child's favor is the last thing on that woman's priority list!"

Ronald sighed, passing a hand in his hair, frustrated.

"I don't know, Ronny, give her up for adoption, you know how many families are dying to have such a child? She's a sweetheart, you just don't allow yourselves to see it".

Silence.

"And I don't like at all what you're doing. What's _with you_?! What're all those things I see you're doing to Rose?"

"I'm education her!" he protested, losing patience, too.

"_Educating_ her?! _How_? Using slaps and punches? You have no idea what you have in your hands, you two! It's unbelievable!" the veins in her neck were visible in her rage, so pissed off she was, right now, "If it's that hard on you, then you're more than welcome to bring her back to me, but don't think for a second that I'll just sit back knowing the hell she goes through under your watch!"

Ronald felt his nerves reaching a new record, "You're talking like I'm some delinquent, mother!" he snorted, "I'm just trying to look after my daughter!"

"Except that she isn't!" Vivian's eyes shot arrows, "your daughter! She's Ben's daughter! And it's about time to accept things as they are! You know she's Ben's child, and you see Ben in her every single day! You know perfectly well that she's the price of your carnality! The punishment for your incest! That's why you're being so harsh on her!"

Ronald just stared at her, shocked at her outburst, the merciless wave of undeniable truth, right in his face, and his anger rose, again. He felt his blood boil. With clenched teeth and eyes narrowing in fury, he hissed- "I'll bring Rose over later this afternoon. I suppose you can warm something up for her, and give her a blanket?!"

Vivian nodded, "For how long she's going to stay this time?"

"I don't know," Ronald confessed, "Marie's leaving for Normandie this evening, going to catch up on a friend she hasn't seen in a while. She'll be gone for two weeks, and said that she doesn't want Rose here once she comes back".

"What?!" Vivian cackled, "And what does she expect us to do with her, exactly?!"

"I don't know!" said Ronald in desperation, "She told me to find some arrangement for her. Said she won't be back unless Rose is out of our hair. She can stay with you here, can't she?" that was anything but a question.

Vivian was defeated, felt like crying, "You never really wanted her," she told him feebly, "But then, why? If you didn't, why did you go through all this, this tiring procedure? If you didn't want her in your lives at all, why not just leave her in the orphanage?..."

"Marie wanted her here," Ronald shrugged tiredly, "And whatever she says, goes."

* * *

Rose was brought into Vivian's place that very same evening.

A warm meal, some warm milk, and a bedtime story awaited her.

Rose's eyes seemed grayer than usual. Vivian noticed that the bruise on her forehead, which looked pale-pink when she left, now turned into an ugly purple-blue, painfully dark color.

She shuddered thinking Rose did that to herself, and clenched her fists, knowing neither her son nor Marie did anything to stop this madness.

Rose did not say a word this evening, didn't leave her grandmother's side, asking without words to be picked up and held.

Vivian was more than happy to oblige.

At bedtime, after Rose's hair didn't smell like sadness, but of light strawberry shampoo, and she was all cleaned up, in her nightgown, she was put into the small bed, Vivian pulling the blanket up to her neck, sitting by her side, caressing her hair. A soft lullaby, the one from the movie they just finished watching, about baby-elephant Dumbo, came through Vivian's lips-

"If they knew sweet little you…" Vivian sang into the dark room, "They'd end up loving you, too…" her hand kept soothing Rose, "All of those people who scold you…what they'd give just for the right to hold you…"

Rose's eyes weren't on her grandmother, but on the edge of the blanket, as she played with it, her small fingers grasping at the fabric, then releasing, "From your head down to your toes…" Vivian kept singing softly, "You're not much, goodness knows…" her left hand was sent to caress Rose's soft abdomen, as she smiled at her lovingly, "But you're so precious to me, sweet as can be, baby of mine…"

Slowly, Rose's eyes began to flutter, as slumber finally came; Vivian wondered if she's dreaming of angels or perhaps the demons in her everyday world, "Baby of mine…"

* * *

Long days passed since Rose was brought in the second time, Ronald came over every once in a while, to take Rose to some place or another. Almost each time he came, the child was taken to God-knows-where, without much explaining.

She thought it was very strange, but since her relationship with her son were problematic lately, and what an understatement that was, she didn't argue nor asked questions.

She just had to trust that her son knew what he was doing, this time.

She hoped so.

* * *

"My beloved Marie,

I write this letter to you on the brink of desperation,

Rose is living with my mother now. For days I try and find a suitable arrangement but I'm coming up empty.

My mother told me yesterday that I must try and find a permanent educational framework for her, she said Rose is not doing well, at all.

Oh, my love, what am I gonna do? I don't want you to be mad at me, I want you to come home! So we can think this through, together!

I can see that Rose is unhappy here, she doesn't get along with her sisters. With my mother she's cheerful. But she's right, that is no permanent solution. You think maybe we should send her back to France? to live with Beatrice? Ah, but we won't see the end of it! They'll torture us!

I hope I'm not discouraging you, I hope you have a great time with Juliette, you haven't seen her for so long.

How's the weather over there?

Oh, Marie, I think each day what to do with Rose, this whole situation is more than frustrating, you think I'm ok with this? Rose constantly keeps me on edge, It's like a nightmare and I wish to wake up! And Rose is so unhappy, I don't know what to, I think like committing myself out of desperation!

I wish you a safe flight home,

Your Ronny".

* * *

"My Ronny,

Oh, I miss you so! Thinking about you constantly!

The weather is great, and Juliette and her family are wonderful!

How are my little ones? Do Rauschel and lily sleep well? They eat enough? Do you kiss them for me, too?

Ronny, I must tell you something, it's about Rose. Have you not found a solution yet? But why? Don't you understand I can't have her in my life anymore?

This situation cannot go on any longer. Rauschel doesn't breath normally with Rose around. Lily is frightened. She makes a mass, she yells and cries and poops on the floor, no need for me to remind you that?

Why can't your mother take care of her? Until we find her a proper school? Does Vivian hate me that much?

I beg of you, find whatever solution needed to get Rose out of the house. I don't care which. My mother, or Beatrice, or hell, send her to Ben, I really don't care. When I bake you a chocolate cake, do you ask how do I make it? No, correct? All you care about is the result. So now, all I care about is the result. No matter how, just get Rose out of our lives!

Marie."

* * *

"Ronny,

I haven't heard from you in a few days. You said your mother is pushing about finding a solution for Rose. That's she's not going to be your life-belt any longer.

What does it mean? That she comes back home?! Ronny, I asked you to get her out!

You frustrate me so!

Rose cannot stay in our house for another day! She's ruining both of our lives, can't you see? Get rid of her, I swear, if you don't, I'll kill myself, however you do it, make her disappear, I don't want to see her when coming home, she's ruining my happiness, you must rid yourself of her, or is it that she tricked you to love her instead of me?!"

* * *

"My Marie…

No despair, my love,

I think I know what to do, I'll talk with my mother about it, too.

Don't you worry.

Have fun in France, it will all be ok when you come back.

I love you,

Ronny".

* * *

May 25th current year, about 3 months ago

Even though she demanded of Marie and Ronald to find a proper care for Rose, in those days, she was her only comfort. The scotch became regular guest, the house often smelled of alcohol.

She knew Marie's ultimatum is approaching its end, and felt the distaste for the French woman grows to the level of actual hatred. Burning, fuming, bubbling hatred.

She loathed Marie with passion. Cursed the day she became part of the Ransone family. Like a storm, she arrived, took everything she could, the rest was damaged, and then when fading, she left a trail of sorrow and distress.

These days all she wanted was to have her hands on Marie's delicate neck, and press, and press, and press till she _implodes_!

It was all her fault, anyway.

Her eyes then wondered to check on Rose, who was seated infront of the TV, her eyes gray and unfocused, Bugs-Bunny's adventures not triggering a smile.

Vivian's heat ached to see that half of the time, Rose was like a robot. The endless road-trips and the edgy situation between Ronald and herself took their toll on the poor child, Rose became even more of a ball of frustration.

It was nearly 5 pm. Vivian thought about going back to her sketches. Maybe, once Rose finishes watching her cartoon, she'll take her to the park? It's not windy outside, and it's been awhile since Rose was taken out to just play.

Suddenly, a knock on the door.

Rose's eyes turned to the door, when Vivian got up to open it.

In a storm, Ronald burst through the door; "Ronny!" Vivian called, then hissed on his lack of manners, not even saying hello to his mother.

He walked right into Rose's room, opened the closets loudly, pulling out the girl's cloths, stuffing them into a bag he brought with him. "Ronald, what are you doing?" his mother asked impatiently, "again you're taking her? Where are you taking her all the time? Don't do that anymore, it confuses her".

"I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago," he answered, keep pulling out cloths and shove them into the bag.

Vivian didn't like his choice of words, "What is that supposed to mean!?" she cried.

"I found a solution for Rose," said Ronald, "A French School in Queens. She'll be ok there, get to know other girls her age."

Something about this didn't sound right to Vivian. She didn't recall of hearing about a French boarding school in Queens. Where was it? What's the name of the school? When did he decide this? Did Marie know? Why in such a hurry? And why on earth didn't they include her in that decision? She was practically Rose's mom now, was she not? Did she not deserve to know?

"Which school?" she asked suspiciously. For months they're looking for a school, and right when Marie starts with the drama queen scenes, a school is found out of the blue, and right here in Queens? How convenient!

"A French catholic school" said Ronald, in a tone of finality. She's wasting time, there is no point of arguing.

He closed the closet's door and turned to leave the room, after zipping the bag closed. "Rose!" he called, sternly, "Come! We're leaving!"

Rose didn't even squeak in protest, rose up from the couch obediently, and took Ransone's big finger in her small hand.

Vivian still didn't like this.

Not at all.

"Ronald, this whole thing's fishy," she tried to reason with him, "You should wait for Marie to come home, so we can all discuss this rationally, and-"

"Marie's not coming back!" Ronald hissed, "She said that if Rose is staying, she's not coming back! She said she's gonna jump from a bridge if she has to come home to find Rose here!"

Wait, WHAT?!

Has this woman lost her mind?!

"You cannot be serious!" Vivian growled, her eyes like tennis balls, her heart breaks for the small child, standing between them, silent, while two adults discussing her like she's some smelly garbage, and like if wondering if to toss her into the closest dumpster or the farer one, "So you're to put her in some boarding school, then?!"

"Mother, she'll like it there, ok? Just for once in your life, trust me! I know what I'm doing" he turned to leave, holding Rose's hand.

"Ronny, this is bad, listen to me! Ronald, no one takes a child so suddenly. Ronny, I tell you, I have a bad feeling, this stinks. Ronny, Ronny!"

But there was no one to talk to.

They left.

In surrender, Vivian dropped on the couch. She felt suffocated, "My Rose," she whispered, tears burning her eyes, "Forgive me…"

* * *

A week later, she called her son, asking about Rose.

Ronald said that Marie is to come home tonight. Rose is ok, adapting nicely to the new school. Having friends already.

Vivian guessed it a good sign.

She was curious, though.

Does Rose speak? Opening up? Plays with the other children?

Ronald answered that 'Yes'. And why not, actually?

Vivian had to accept the answer.

And when is she to come home to visit? Her grandmother misses her so!

"I don't know, soon." Said Ronald, and hung up.

Vivian sighed.

* * *

She called again in the next week.

How is Rose? When can she see her?

"Still in boarding school," said Ronald.

"Don't they release the kids at all to come home?" Vivian was surprised.

"Marie prefers that she'll stay there full time," was the short answer.

"Still, I miss her, I want to see her, when will that be possible?"

"Call again in a week, I'll be smarter then." He said, promising to speak with the manager.

"Fine." She said, and Ronald hung up.

* * *

Four days later, she called again.

"Rose has the influenza," was the answer this time, "She's treated there for few more days, till she gets better, and then she'll come home".

Vivian understood, and hung up.

* * *

A week later, Vivian called again.

The answering machine was activated.

She left a message.

Ronald didn't call back.

* * *

A week and a half later, Vivian called again.

There was no answer, the voicemail wasn't activated either.

Nobody called her back.

* * *

9 days later, she called again.

Amanda, the nanny, picked up the phone.

She came back to work there, because Marie also returned to her day-job, and needed a sitter.

By what she knows, Rose is doing fine, and liking the school.

Amanda couldn't say more.

Vivian, her patience wearing thin with her son and Marie, asked, or to be more exact- demanded, that her son calls her back as soon as he can.

It is unacceptable, that for 2 months, she has no idea what's going on with Rose!

Her son didn't call back.

* * *

10 days later, she called again.

Marie answered the phone.

When asked about Rose, she said everything's fine.

"When can I see her?" Vivian pushed.

"Why are you calling here all the time?" Marie queried suddenly, "Ronny's becoming upset, why can't you just leave us alone?!"

_Leave them_?

She just worries for her granddaughter!

"I want to know how Rose is doing!" she insisted. Rose was given to the boarding school in May. Now its mid- July and she has no idea about how she's doing. What the hell are Ronald and Marie playing at?!

"I thought Ronny told you that Rose is not here anymore!" Marie blamed.

"He only said that she's off to a boarding school, he never said anything about me not seeing her anymore, and why on earth are you two avoiding my calls?!"

"We're not avoiding anything!" Marie barked, tone rising, "We told you Rose's off to a boarding school, so she is! Damn it, stop bothering us about Rose, you won't get to see her, anyway!"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Vivian felt like a bucket of eyes was dropped on her, "Not seeing her? Where is Rose, Marie? Where did you take her to? Is she in a boarding school at all? What did you do to her?!"

Marie hissed, "We did nothing! You're completely insane! We owe you nothing! Rose is in the school, and that's the end of it! We put her there so we won't have to go through her madness, nor do we plan on dealing with yours!"

And she hung up on Vivian.

And slowly, worry began to fill down Vivian's insides.

* * *

She tapped the doorbell the next day, but there was no answer.

Yes, deciding she had more than enough, she came by their house to demand answers.

No answer.

She kept insisting, losing patience quickly, knocking again and again.

No answer.

Suddenly, a curious head peeped from apartment number 4. Vivian recognized the kind Mr. Peters standing there, somewhat surprised. "Hello, Mrs. Ransone," he kindly greeted.

"Oh, Hello, Mr. Peters. Sorry about that", she apologized, "I guess my son is out".

"Yes," said Mr. Peters, "he left about couple of hours ago".

"You spoke with him? You know where he is, maybe? Was Marie with him?"

"Oh yeah", he nodded repeatedly, "She was, and the two girls, too".

Two? "Was Rose with them, by any chance?"

He frowned, "No," was his answer, "As a matter of fact, I haven't seen her for a long time. But they put her in a school, didn't they?"

"Yes, in May, did you see her ever since?"

Peters seemed deep in thought, "No, actually, I haven't. Eh, that must be a hell of a school, if they don't let the kids see the light of day, hua?" he chuckled, amused.

And then the worry turned into fear.

* * *

She asked whoever she could, called whoever she knew, checked on any source available. She called her son, came their place to check again.

But she never got to see Rose in any of those times.

Ronald pretty much gave her the brush off every time she pointed out that Rose is not coming home, and what's going on here, really.

When Marie picked up the phone once, she cussed her, yelled at her, and hung up on her, again.

Not even one of the neighbors could confirm that they saw Rose in the last three months.

It was early August, and nobody has seen Rose since May.

She called Mia, who couldn't be much of a help.

Amanda knew nothing, either.

It seemed like the earth opened its jaw and swallowed Rose inside.

And then the fear turned into horror.

* * *

A phone call and a letter were received into the New York Federal Bureau of Investigations' red mail, and voicemail. And a complaint.

A New Yorker, 63 year old Vivian Ransone, begging to whoever able and willing to help, saying that her granddaughter, Rose Isabel Ransone, disappeared on May 25th this year, and there is no guarantee for her safety or her medical condition.

Rose, age 4, is a quiet child. Her height: 83 centimeters, her eyes: blue, her hair: light brown. Last seen on May 25th, 5:03PM, was wearing a white blouse with a 'Dora' cartoon printed on it, and a pink skirt. She was wearing a pink hairband.

Her mother-tongue: French, though she understands English. Ever since 5 PM on said day, she vanished. Her grandmother, Mrs. Ransone, fears for her life, asking authorities to locate her as soon as possible.

"Please," she begs, "Help me find my Rose".

* * *

On August 17th, this year, Special Agent Nick Brown, FBI, was assigned by his supervisor, to take part in the investigation concerning the child Rose. An all wide investigation opened, and he met with Mrs. Ransone.

A special detective Melanie Spancer was also appointed to the missing child's case, their mission obvious- Find the girl as soon as possible, and retrieve her to her family.

The following days, Agent Brown came by the 12th precinct of the New York Police Department, asking to meet with Victoria Gates, and Detective Kate Beckett then joined the case, as well, as a part of the search team.

"Ok," she said, "So who are we trying to find?"

From his back pocket, the Agent pulled an old, faded photo- "Her" he said hoarsely.

Beckett felt something heavy sinking inside her when looking at the photo. A small girl, her blue eyes crying, her face bruised, her doll-like face crying for help.

"You can count on me in whatever you need", she said.

"I expect us to start working ASAP, Detective".

And so it turned out, that Detective Kate Beckett, alongside 9-year-old-on-a-sugar-rush writer Richard Castle, joined a case that even in their wildest dreams, they couldn't predict its ending.

* * *

**And so it begins!**

_**The story up till now was kind of the 'prologue' so to speak. The angst, suspense, and real plot line will be built slowly in each coming chapter, up to the end, which will be probably chapter 11.**_

_**Thank you for all of you who follow, and those who let me tell this story!**_


	6. Chapter 5

In a red dress"

And two braids

A young, lone, innocent child

Stood and asked-

_"Why"?_

And all the volcanoes

And all the storms

And all the lions

And all the leopards

And all the cannons

And all the soldiers

And all the great ones

And all the wise men

Stood pale-faced

For they could not find an answer."

* * *

**Third part- The Second Abomination**

_Early August_

Richard Castle set in his writing room, in a desperate attempt not to lose his mind. Paula called minutes ago, urging him to finally finish the last Nikki Heat chapter; an hour of endless barks, much unwelcomed frustration, and he still felt stuck.

The previous week was boring as hell. Most of it included endless paperwork of their last case, and like always, when it came down to paperwork, he preferred to just stay home and finish writing, stay as far as possible from the ice-cold stares of Captain Gates.

What he needed right now, was a good case; a juicy one, to distract him from the constant boredom he went through these days. He so much wanted Beckett to call, and…-

_BAM!_

He sat bold upright, the sound from the living-room startling him. "Alexis," he thought in sudden panic, and ran out to see what's going on.

"Ah-ha!" he heard his daughter's proud voice, "A winner!"

In a screeching halt, he stopped abruptly. The scene in front of him was both disturbing and amusing. Alexis, his only daughter, was sitting on the carpet, equipped with plastic eyeglasses and wearing a white robe, in front of her some bottles. He recognized a Coke, Sprite, and . Foam surged rapidly from the bottles, covering the newspaper clippings they were on.

Standing aside, Martha Rogers seemed entertained.

"See, Grams?" called Alexis, her eyes sparkling in triumph, "Success!"

"Alexis, what are you doing?" inquired Castle.

"An experiment!" she called, reminding him of the old days, the ones in which she used to try and create tomato bombs as part of a science project. She was maybe 10, the house was covered in red goo, though he couldn't bring himself to be mad at her.

His kid was just so…Awesome!

She then began throwing tiny beads into the foamy bottles when he suddenly understood, "Coke and Mentos?" he chucked, "Alexis, people figured it out years ago".

Alexis rolled her eyes, "It's not Coke and Mentos, dad! It's a Coke and Mentos ROCKET!"

Oh, hehehe, eh…Hua?

"It's says right here," Alexis pointed on an open page in the science magazine. Two nerds in white robes stared at him from said article, which was kinda creepy, actually, "These guys are trying to create an automat rocket machine made entirely out of Coke-Mentos chemical reaction. So far they couldn't do it, but it sounds possible!"

A Coke-Mentos rocket.

_Right._

This week was never going to end.

He was about to say something, when his cell phone chimed.

Beckett.

'Oh, well', he thought delightedly, 'it seems to be the end of the tormenting boredom'.

* * *

He was called to 3 West and 90th Street, Manhattan, right near the Central Park.

"Good afternoon, detective Beckett", he smiled cheerfully, handing her the extra cup of coffee.

"Hey Castle, Oh, thank you!" she smiled back, a smile full of perfect white teeth, taking her warm cup from him.

Approaching the crime scene, Beckett took in the corner of the two streets. Their crime scene itself was a blue-prius; she recognized two victims inside. A man and a woman, their heads hanging on the window, and bloodstains covering both their cloths.

Straight to the point, Beckett inquired, "Hey, Lanie, so what do we have here?"

Lanie nodded, "A man walking his dog noticed them here. Two GSW to the chest, after attempt strangulation. Based on lividity and temperature, I'd say about, 15-17 hours ago. But I'll have to get them to the morgue to be 100% positive."

Beckett nodded, thinking, "Do we have an ID?"

"No wallet or any documents," Esposito's head peeped from behind the car, "Only thing found in the back seat is a Model-Aircraft Magazine, and…." He added gloomily, "A kiddy bag".

With pursed lips, Beckett stated the obvious- "One of them had a child".

"Or both. Or, they were a couple", Castle shrugged.

"Any further detail, we can determine once we get them to the morgue", said Lanie.

They continued to go through the crime scene for 40 minutes more, until getting back to the precinct.

* * *

"Alright, now, we have an ID," said Ryan, approaching Beckett's desk, "Our victims are Daniel and Gaela Swan, 47 and 45 respectively. Been married for 7 years," he clipped their pictures into the murder board. Names were in the system because apparently last week, husband met the wrong end of somebody's fist in an Irish Bar" he noted, "Besides that, a clean sheet".

Beckett's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and Ryan continues, "Gaela Swan was an English teacher, husband worked as a cab driver here and Manhattan. Nothing to light a red bulb."

"Except the fact that they were both shot to death," Castle stated the obvious.

They were doing that a lot, today.

Espo shrugged.

"Mr. Swan was an only child, father passed away when he was 16, mother re-married a rehab guy 10 years ago, studied at the New York University, met his wife Gaela there. Gaela, born in Manhattan, both parents died at a young age. One sister and a sick uncle".

He passed the file to the others.

"Average income. Not many friends at the workplace. But here's an interesting fact. His name was mentioned in a complaint two weeks ago. It was erased after a few days, for no apparent reason".

"What was it about?" asked Beckett, going through the file.

"Staring."

Castle cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah. A colleague named Henry Gordon. Has a 7 year old. Brought her to the cab-station a few times, because her mother had to take extra shifts in the restaurant. Dude starts noticing Swan checking out his kid for a long time. Files the complaint. Few days after, it's all dust in the air."

Castle and Beckett exchanged looks, "If some stranger was giving Alexis suspicious stares, he would have had me to answer two, and it wouldn't have been at all pretty."

"I bet you Gordon felt the same," Ryan agreed.

"He goes to confront him, 'Why are you staring at my daughter', it might have gone physical, things went out of hand, and….there you have it".

"All nice and all, which still leaves us with the question- how did the Mrs. get into this? And why in the vehicle?"

"Well," Beckett rose up from the table she was sitting on, "Lets bring him in and ask him directly".

* * *

"Henry Gordon", Beckett read from the file, entering the interrogation room. There sat a man in his thirties, wearing a warm jacket, unshaved, and nervous-looking.

"Why was I called in here?" is demanded, "If that's because of the jackass from the Bar, he totally started it! I was just defending myself, and…-

"Relax, Gordon," Beckett sat down in front of him, "That's not what this is about".

"Then what am I doing here?"

"Mr. Gordon, do you recognize this man?" Beckett pulled out Swan's photo from the file, putting it on the table in front of him.

Gordon leaned back, and snarled, "Him?" he asked, "Yeah, I know this nitwit. Daniel-fuckin'-Swan, that asswipe. Feels like a Rambo. Why, did he get himself into trouble again?"

"He's dead" said Beckett in importance.

Gordon's eyes widened for a second, but then he shrugged, and smiled suddenly, "Tough shit", he folded his arms, "And he had it coming. You know what they say, God works in mysterious ways, and all that shit…-"

"Mr. Gordon, I have here a complaint you filled against Mr. Swan two weeks ago," she pulled out the document, placing it on the table so he can have a better look and be reminded of his doings.

He gave the file a peek, "Yeah, that's my handwriting", he shrugged.

Beckett waited.

With a sigh, he said, "Look, I bring my daughter Melissa to the station, cause her mother has to stay at the diner. She's outside playing, ya know, minding her own business, when suddenly I catch this freak," he pointed on Swan's picture, "starting following her around, creeping her out. So I go to him and I'm all like 'Yo, mudafucker! Cut it out!' and then he has the nerve to come up and tell me to stay out of it, and stop harassing him!'

"I bet that made you so angry", Becket muttered in a dangerous whisper.

"Hell yeah!" answered Gordon, "Sonomabitch messing around with my Melissa! I wanted to cut off his balls and feed him with 'em!"

"Which is why you killed him" concluded Beckett.

"Right!" and with her raised eyebrow, he realized what he just said, "Wait, no! wha… wait, you think _I_ killed him?"

Beckett shrugged, passing the pen between her fingers, pretending to be bored, "Well, you said so yourself, he was harassing your daughter. It's completely understandable that you got mad. Every father would have. So much that he would have followed the stalker, confronts him, and then, things go out of hand, his wife tries to help, and…-"

"Wha!" he gasped, "Woo, listen! You got this all wrong! That's _so_ not what happened!" Gordon defended, "Yeah, I filed the complaint, because I figured that they're not going to do anything about it in the station. But then I say, 'the cops are not going to do anything about it either', so I come up to this faggot again, and tell him to piss off and leave my kid tha hell alone, and then he starts _yammering about_ not giving the fuck about Melissa, that all he wants is the bag."

Beckett stopped playing with the pen, "The bag? What bag?" she demanded.

"The 'Hello Kitty' bag!" Gordon said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "He said that his kid, Donna, got this bag as a present, a pink purse or somethin', and suddenly, it's gone. So, he believes Melissa boosted it and starts following her around, ya know, to see if she has it. Then he tells me that only a fucked up dude can believe he's some kind of Pedo, and that I should do some self checking! I mean,_ really_?!"

Beckett sighed.

Great. Just great.

"So all of this," she made sure, "Is about a _kiddy bag_?"

"Can you believe this ass?" he called incredulously, "then he calls my wife's cell-phone, demanding her to check if Melissa has the bag. She tells him 'no'. The little brat finds it in the school-gym 3 days after. And that was that".

And back to square one it is.

Beckett exhaled, "Mr. Gordon, I supposed you don't mind me asking, where were you yesterday between 5 and 7PM?"

"I played pool with the guys in the local Scottish Bar in SoHo," Gordon puffed, "We saw the Phillies game on the big screen. You can ask my friends, and the barman. They'll all tell you I was there till at least 8."

Biting her lip, Beckett wrote that on the pad in front of her.

"I had no reason to kill him; Besides the fact that I believed he was way too stupid to walk this earth stealing other's people fresh air. But if you ask me, you should check on Eduards".

"Eduards"?

"A weird dude that used to work with us, but was fired about a week ago. He and Swan had this gig about Model- airplanes. Toys and all kinda shit. Some said it was all about shady business, gambling and all. I dunno. Anyway, yesterday noon this guy shows up at the station, starts yelling at Swan outside," Beckett's eyebrows rose, "And that was a pretty loud con, if ya ask me. He starts barking at him that he owns him money, that he's in debt to some heavy dudes, mobs and all that. I didn't get what it was all about. What I can tell you, that whatever it was, _he was up to his neck involved_. That wasn't pleasant". He pulled out a cigarette.

Ignoring it, Beckett wrote the last details infront of her. Her phones beeped, and she nodded at reading the text message being sent to her.

"Mr. Gordon, thank you for your cooperation", she got up, "You're free to go".

* * *

"And we're back to square one", said Beckett in annoyance, "His alibi checked out. The barman remembers the drunk guy ruining his tables. Every time the Phillis scored, by the way".

Esposito snored.

"The uniforms are on their way to check their apartment, to see if there's anything there that can help us." Said Ryan.

"And what about Eduards?" Beckett asked.

"They're on their way to get him".

"Alright," she said, "What about the bank account, found something unusual about his finances?"

"Actually," Marked Ryan pertinently, "Until recently, about two months ago, he had a very scheduled income, nothing weird besides few hundreds, not uncommon considering his airplanes-model fetish, but suddenly, two months ago, he empties 25 grand from a bank belonging to his uncle, registered for him, an inheritance on his name".

"25 thousand?" Castle wondered, and then turned to Beckett, "Gordon said their flying-models hobby was common thing. Eduards drown in debts, maybe those were common to both of them?"

"I don't see any evidence of these two sharing more than airplanes hobby, and that's not the kind of amount to be spent there", said Ryan.

"25 grand, debts, or businesses nobody knows about, and two bodies in a car", her eyes narrowed in concentration. Something was off, "I don't get it" she admitted.

Beckett's cell-phone buzzed, she recognized the number, "Hey, Lanie".

"Hey girlfriend, you better come down here ASAP. Found something that might interest you".

"Be right there," she said and hung up, "Let's go, Castle".

* * *

"Well, the GSW was indeed cause of death. Our killer tried to strangle the Hubby, my guess is the wife tried to help, got shot, then he was, right after. Murder weapon- Glock 45."

Beckett nodded.

Plausible.

"But that's not the interest thing," said Lanie with a smile, picking up Gaela Swan's bleached hand, "underneath their nails, I found something that looked like dirt to begin with, but turned out to be something else completely".

"What is it?" asked Castle.

"Soil." Determined Lanie, "Under a microscopic check, one common near fast-growing trees. To be precise, this is soil found in Norwegian- Maple trees".

Beckett blinked rapidly, "There are no Norwegian-Maple trees at the crime scene" she said, confused.

"Right." Lanie agreed, "As a matter of fact, the only place in that radios in which Norwegian-Maple trees can be found, is in the-"

"Central Park!" burst Castle, enthusiastic.

"Right," Said Lanie slowly, and Beckett held down a smile. "Your victims were not killed where they were found. They were killed in the Central Park".

* * *

Beckett and Castle hurried up the stairs, when Ryan approached, "We located his mother," he said, "she's in the waiting room".

Beckett nodded, "I'll get this," she calmed, "You guys figure out where this money went to".

"On it".

"Any luck on Eduards?"

"No update, yet".

"Fine," she said, "Let's go in, Castle".

* * *

"Mrs. Randolph, I'm very sorry for your loss," said Becket in sympathy. The redhead woman sniffed once, and hiccupped.

She then nodded thankfully.

"When was the last time you saw Daniel?"

"Four days ago," said his mother in a trembling voice, "he didn't visit often, you know? He couldn't accept my new husband. Said I threw my life away. It wasn't easy for him…"

With pursed lips, Beckett asked, "When you saw him, did you notice anything…unusual, about his behavior? Was he scared, or agitated, or nervous?"

The mother shook her head, "Oh no," she said, "On the contrary, he was perfectly calm. Kept saying how wonderful Gaela is, and how much she keeps surprising him in each passing day. Such a wonderful girl was Gaela", tears re-appeared in the woman's eyes, "I was so happy that he found a nice and stable girl, and their marriage was solid. It's so rare to find a good mate these days, to keep on a marriage for so long".

Beckett heard Castle emitting something which sounded like a mix of a cough and a snort. Trying not to smile, she asked, "What did you talk about?"

"He asked me if I was ok, if I was happy. I told him I was, and then…-"

"And then?" asked Castle.

"He said he got involved in something he wasn't sure was his place to get involved in. That he needed money. I asked him if it was about that creep, Eduards, and he told me to just let this go, that the lesser I knew, the better. That it was way too big to understand".

That drove Beckett's attention, "You knew Eduards?"

"Oh, yes!" she nodded repeatedly, "A very unpleasant, rude, and violent man! Tried to use my son, then weight his debts on him. He tried to frighten him! Told him it was his fault his model-airplane system wasn't working, a real ungenerous man," she shivered, "and then, my boy comes to me and asks about Uncle Mourise's will, said he needs the money urgently. I told him, 'don't you let that Eduards scare you, boy' but he kept brushing it off, telling me not to worry."

Castle and Beckett let her continue, "And he said, "Don't be afraid, Mama, I'll watch for myself, this money is all for a good cause, it was Gaela's idea, and you're going to be so proud of me"" her lips quivered in anguish, "And that that awful man kills my baby-boy!" she cried, "Please, you have to punish him! This man killed my son, he shouldn't see daylight!"

The door opened suddenly, "Yo, Guys, come over here for a minute," Esposito asked.

They thanked Swan's mother, then left the room- "After a quick conversation with Mr. Nicolas, the cab-station's boss, we went through the street cams in the area. On 5:17 PM we got the footage, and an eye witness, both showing Swan and Eduards exchanging harsh words. Wife was in the car. On 5:23 they're all entering the vehicle, driving east. They definitely left together, all three of them. The witness heard them talking about "solving the issues", then they drove off."

"5:23, that right in the middle of our murder-window!"

"We got the Son of a bitch".

* * *

"Greg Eduards! NYPD! We've got a warrant! Open up!" was the harsh door slamming on the dark wooden door of the filthy building in northern Queens.

"Eduards! Open the door!"

The silence was deafening.

"Hell with this", with a harsh kick, the door opened, and a bunch of yells, of "NYPD!", "Don't Move, police!", "Hands in the air!" was heard all over the apartment.

They weren't prepared for, however, what happened next.

"Holy mother of Jesus! What the hell happened here!?"

* * *

"Well, this sucks!" huffed Esposito, staring helplessly at the hanged body of Greg Erudards, in his apartment. The place itself was trashed, like someone already searched it.

"Life sucks, detective," said Perlmutter in his usual melancholic voice, "Including the report I'll have to hand over this " he grumbled.

"Detective," said one of the uniforms, "I think you were looking for this" he tossed an open bag on the old couch. A bag containing a lot of cash.

"Let me guess," Said Castle, "25 grand?"

"To the last penny," said the cop, "including this," and he pulled out of a closet…a Glock 45. "My wild bet, this is our murder weapon".

"Seems like we cracked this case wide open", said Esposito tiredly, holding a yawn, "Greaaaat".

"Wha…No!" cried Castle, "No, not great at all!"

Three detective gave him a funny look. He almost pouted, "This is totally not how I would have written it!" he whined.

Three detectives sighed.

"I mean, C'mon! Seriously?! A debt slaughter?! That's just so BORING!"

"Castle," Beckett began slowly, "Not everything is like in your books. Sometimes, the smoking gun really is the one shooting the fire".

"Well, yeah!" he stated the obvious, "When you bring common sense to it! And there is no sense to it at all!"

"Yo, bro, what are you talking about?" Esposito was losing patience. He was tired. He just wanted to go home.

"I mean, look around you!" his arms spread all over the room, "The Swans surpassingly owe money to Eduards. We don't know about what, but lets assume it's concerning the model-flying airplanes. They argue, he goes in their car to discuss things, right? He kills them, what? While driving? How does he manage the car? Why the Central Park? So, he happens to know they have the bags with the cash, and we don't know what was the money for, he robs them, in a rage attack kills them both, goes home, and instead of directly giving the money to the creditors, he….keeps it here until he hangs himself?!" his face twisted in doubt, "What kind of brain-dead guy hangs himself just after robbing someone, and leaves the money _here_?!"

"Someone who can't live with the guilt, knowing he killed a colleague?" thought Ryan aloud.

"Someone who knows that the uniforms are on his tail?" added Esposito usefully.

"Just pick up the most reasonable explanation" concluded Beckett.

Castle sighed. How can they not see it? Ok, he knew he was the team's conspiranist, that was part of him being a mystery-novelist. But he's never wrong! I mean, when it matters!

"And how do you explain the trashed place?" he challenged.

After a quick thinking, "Tried to find a better hiding place, during which, things got messy," she shrugged; "I understand you're disappointed, Castle. Don't worry. There will be again a time of labyrinths and mystery", she game him one of those rare smiles, nudging him playfully on her way out, "you'll see".

* * *

These days of August- New York: 

The main room of the 12th precinct was overcrowded. Three head-homicide detectives, along with novelist Richard Castle, were present, following the photos intensively. Besides them, two detectives from the 11th precinct, four youth commissioners, five FBI agents, among them Brown and Melanie, were present, besides the usual detectives on their day job.

On the main murder board was a photo of a 4 year old girl, and a marking ink on it screamed- "Missing".

The girl Rose, last seen in her grandmother's place, Vivian Ransone, disappeared on May 25th, 5PM.

Photos of mother Marie, and father/(?)grandfather Ronald, were right below, big question marks surrounding them. Parents? Suspects? Blackmail victims?

Unknown.

Underneath, the photo of the great-grandmother, Vivian, and right below, with a serious expression, the father Benjamin.

Hidden. Concealed.

Enigmatic.

"The special department of the FBI received the sweeping gag-order concerning the disappearance of the child Rose Ransone ." Captain Gates severe tone filled the room, "Whoever wasn't present here in the last three days, the information we have is deeply concerning. The child Rose is missing since May. It is unknown whether she reached the boarding school she was registered to, was she kidnapped from there, or before being dropped there. The information we received 30 minutes ago is even more disturbing, we found no boarding school answering the profile given, or any guarantee that the child is in such an institution."

Gasps and whispered began to fill the room, the captain raised her hand to quiet down her people, "The answers are first of all, in her family, the description and details were given to each and every one of you", they nodded, understanding.

"We will address her parents immediately for answers. Meantime, I want to know every detail possible on this family. Their whereabouts in the last three months. Any orders or complains filed against them. Friends. Enemies. Creditors. Business partners. Every possible detail."

The detectives wrote it all down in front of them.

Gates concluded, "A four year old girl is missing for three months," a dangerous, determined sparkle appeared in her eyes, "Our one and only concern is finding her. This precinct will not leave one question unanswered, one stone untouched, until this baby is found, and returned home!" she said loudly, sternly, "dismissed!"

* * *

This apartment building in east Manhattan was just constructed, and a fresh paint scent was still in the air. Beckett looked around before knocking on apartment number 3.

"Ronald Ranson! NYPD! Open up!" she called in a stern voice.

Castle tried to listen. A rustle from inside? Anybody home? He exchange glances with Beckett, and then shrugged- "Dead silent," he said jokingly, trying to ease the terrible tension.

Her face told him it didn't work. Eh.

After a few seconds, she sighed, and knocked again, more fiercely this time, "Ransone! Police! Open the door!" she was becoming impatient, Castle could tell, her gentle tapping turning into persistent door slamming.

The silent from the apartment was nerve-wrecking.

Becket knocked again, rang the bell, refusing to give up so soon, "Ransone! Police!" she called again, only a matter of time before snotty annoyed neighbors will peep out, demanding what was the noise all about.

After what seemed like forever, they could have heard someone messing with the key, and the door opened slowly.

At the entrance stood a tall, well-built man in his forties, an undefined look on his face, "Yes?" he asked.

"Ronald Ransone?" Beckett asked in a steady voice.

"Yes, who's asking?" he inquired suspiciously.

Pulling out her badge, she presented it to him, "Kate Beckett, NYPD".

His suspicion turned into an unreadable expression, "What can I help you with, detective?" he asked with a silk voice, "I don't remember calling the police".

'Oh, he tries to be funny', Beckett thought, 'Won't go'.

Beckett clucked her tongue, taking mental notes on the environment, "Mr. Ranson, I'm here about your daughter." She said finally.

"Which one?" Ranson asked in an amused, almost mocking, tone- "I have two".

Castle arched an eyebrow, "Do you?" he asked, "I was positive you have three."

Something about this guy was fishy. He didn't like him. His castle-Radar chimed loudly. With the fleshers and everything. The way he looked at him, examined him, from head to toe, did nothing but increase that odd unpleasant feeling.

"Is that right?" he taunted, "And who is the third?"

"You deny being the father of the girl Rose?" Beckett asked.

His eyes narrowed, and he didn't answer.

Beckett exhaled, "Let's get to the point, Mr. Ransone. Your mother called us, distressful, telling us your daughter, Rose, is missing for 3 months. You don't answer her calls, you don't return her calls, you don't give her any answers concerning Rose's location, you avoid her questions. I would very much like to know why. And would want to see Rose. Right now, as a matter of fact.

"I'm afraid that's not possible", he said, and Castle felt uncomfortable noting that the guy didn't even flinch at Beckett's stern, demanding voice. He was ice-cold. Calm. Calculated.

Too calculated.

He reminded Castle of one of the Mob leaders from his Derek Dtorm books.

"I beg your pardon?" Beckett practically barked.

"I'm not going to hand Rose over to you, and you're not going to see her, either".

"And why is that?" Beckett huffed in annoyance.

"Simple," Ransone leaned on the door frame, folding his arms, "My wife flew to France to bring back Rose 6 months ago. You've done your homework. Ever since April her mother and brother don't stop calling. Isabelle filed a complaint to the kids-judge in Paris, about him ignoring a parenthood check-up she went through, some idiotic document, says she failed and not suited to be a mother," Ransone spat in anger, "Ever since then people come over here nonstop, phone won't stop ringing, the grams demanding Marie to hand over Rose to them in France. I put Rose in a school, you see? In France her father used to beat her up, his girlfriend, as well. In the boarding school she's better. I know what you guys from the authorities are after. I'm not falling into this. Book me if you want, but forget about Rose".

Beckett's eyes narrowed in an angry expression, "Do you realize what you've done, Mr. Ransone?" she asked quietly, "You alerted the entire New York Police department, including the FBI".

She then continued, "We are not interested in taking Rose anywhere. All we're concerned about is her well being. If you're saying that the grandmothers are harassing you, then come with me to the precinct, and we'll file a complaint".

Biting his lip, looking first at a distrusting Castle, and then on Beckett, he considered; "Very well" he decided.

"And then I'll ask you. I'll demand of you, actually, to immediately show me that Rose is safe and sound".

* * *

They filed the complaint at that very noon. But the real important answer- where is Rose? That was still not given. Gates directed to bring him to the interrogation room immediately; she wanted to have an eagle eye on that case, herself.

Agent Brown let Beckett call the shoots today.

"Ransone, we care about nothing but Rose, now, do you read me?" she circled the room, outside, Castle, Brown and Gates observing his interrogation, "I don't want you to evade my questions any longer, and nither do I have all day for you. You understand?!"

"I don't know what you want me to tell you. Am I under arrest? Do I need a lawyer? What did my mother tell you?" he demanded to know.

"What did your mother tell us?" she leaned on the table threateningly, "She told us you're _bluffing_, and_ lying_. She told us you took Rose away and won't tell anyone _where_!" she slammed her fist into the table.

"And what is her business in any of that?" Ransone didn't back down, "I told her I put the girl in a French school, now, didn't I?" he challenged.

"And where is that school? You're lying again!"

Ransone sighed, passing a hand through his hair, "Fine," he surrendered, "I didn't take her into that French school. I took her into a boarding shool. Public one".

"In Queens?" she asked, and after he nodded, she attacked, "So why did you lie to your mother?!"

"Because I let her believe this is like a fancy-school. But Marie didn't want to spend a lot of money on her, so we decided on a cheaper public boarding school, instead. That's all. Marie was angry at my mother, and we didn't get alone that great. The last thing I needed was my mother jumping me about Marie being stingy and all."

Beckett rose up, "Prepare yourself," she informed Ransone, "We're going on a road trip. You're going to show me exactly where that school is".

* * *

The drive to Queens was quiet, no much talking. In the car were Beckett, Castle, Brown, and Ransone.

The boarding schools named after Franklin. Yard was quiet, too.

Beckett got out, and after noticing Castle wishing to accompany her, said, "Wait here", that she wants to check this out by herself.

All that time Ransone gaped out the window quietly, not making a sound.

20 minutes later, she came back with hurrying, impatient, annoyed steps. Entering the car, she started the car, giving Ransone a death glare through the back mirror. "They've never heard of a child called Rose Ransone" she spat angrily.

Ouch.

"We're going back to the station, and THEN!" her words were directed at their passenger in the backseat, "you're going to tell me the _truth_".

* * *

They were back in the interrogation room, "Now, are you willing to tell us what's really going on here?" it was Brown asking the questions; Beckett was in the room, taking Ransone in.

Ransone's gaze wondered, passing the ceiling, the walls, concentrating on anything and everything but the detectives, "She disappeared under your watch, don't you get it?" Brown Barked.

"She didn't disappear! you're all making a drama movie out of nothing!" Ransone burst suddenly.

"So where is she now, _now_?" demanded Beckett.

Ransone's look wondered over the room again, "With her father." he blurted out, suddenly.

"Her father?" repeated Beckett doubtfully, "I thought you said she had an abusing father who didn't care for her, and didn't check on her for more than a year".

She wondered if this guy can be taken seriously, at all.

"Yeah, but I couldn't cut him off completely. Marie didn't know I used to talk to him, so he came here, and said he wanted to take her for some time, to spend Christmas with her at least, for a few months. So I said 'Fine', and he took her to France, and that's it."

"And Marie didn't say anything?"

"Said? Said, well, eh, she was with the girls, outside, in the yard, she wasn't home when he came. Only him, and Rose, and…-

"So Rose was there? She wasn't in that boarding school you said you registered her to?" Beckett questioned.

"Well, no! I said she was there with me!"

"Alright, go on".

"And then he came, and said he broke up with his girl, and he's taking self-control course to become like, _better_, and all that, for Rose. He said he misses her, that Marie doesn't want her anyway, so yeah, he took her".

"Listen, Ransone, you're screwing with us," Brown lost all patience, "And I'll tell you why"…

"Why?"

"Because 10 minutes ago you sat right _there"_ he pointed at the chair on which Ransone was sitting, "telling us that Isabelle came to the US and you gave Rose to _her_ a month and a half ago. Or didn't you?!"

"Weh, I got mixes up, I got confused, it happens. It wasn't Isabel, It was her father who took her."

"We'll look into it, don't worry," Said Kate aloud, ordering the observers to go do just that.

* * *

"Nonsense", concluded Esposito ten minutes after, "Rose is not with her father, or Isabelle, or anywhere in France, for that matter".

Beckett didn't know why, but that discovery didn't come as a surprise.

The bad feeling in Castle increased, "That guy is a better story teller then me," he said quietly, "but those stories are not at all connected to reality. He's completely detached, you can see it in his eyes".

Even though most of the time Beckett objected his over-dramatic formulations, this time she more than agreed.

This thing began to smell really bad. The kind of bad that made Kate want to vomit.

And Castle could tell that.

He remembered, 4 years ago, a toddler disappeared under her father's watch. Thankfully, this case had a happy ending, but during the investigation, he also learned about another case, a boy who Beckett couldn't save in time.

She was afraid, so was he, that young Rose will be another name on the list of disappointed children.

And they both intended to do everything to keep that from happening.

* * *

"We're still waiting for a serious answer from you, Ransone", Beckett had to question him on the third time.

Ransone held onto his fifth, "You know we can keep doing this for as long as it takes. All we wanna know, is, where is Rose. We have no intention to get her out of the United States. But we need to know where she is."

After a long silence, said Ransone, "Go find my mother, she always has her".

* * *

They went to check on Vivian's place, then return to the precinct, for she wasn't home.

The day approached its end, and a 5 minutes conversation with Ransone, dragged out to last an entire day, 5 destinations checked, and still- no Rose.

And they were all becoming edgy.

At 7PM, 3 cops entered the station, an old, blond, short woman held cuffed between them. "Ransone," Called beckett, "Here's your mother".

Vivian spotted Ronald, all frustration and fear and grief rising up, suffocating her, "Ronny!" she cried, "What did you tell them? The police came looking for me! What did you do with Rose?"

"What did I do?" he snapped at her, "What did you do? She's always at your place, isn't she?"

Like a bad novel scene, that was. Grandmother and grandfather, mother and son, yapping at each other, demanding answers of one another, all while the precinct's cops gaping from aside, taking in the scene.

"You took her, mother! Tell them the truth!" he blamed.

"Me?" called Vivian, astonished, "What on earth are you…I haven't seen her since May!"

"You took her to your classes! And to the clinic when you were sick! You took her everyplace! You thought Marie wasn't a good mother, so you took Rose and now you're hiding her! Now our family's ruined! You took her to get back at us! Tell the truth!"

"Ronald, I don't know what you are talking about!" her eyes widened, "You're scaring me! What have you done?!"

"I've done nothing, mother! You took her, don't lie!"

"Ronny, for the life of mine, I cannot understand you! I gave you the child, with the bag and all! On May 25th, at 5PM! She was holding your hand! She drove with you! Tell them! Ronny, that's your responsibility! Where is Rose? Bring her back!"

* * *

Beckett had to leave it to the other cops at the hallway, when Gates called her into her office. She went straight to the point, "This man," the pointed at the closed door, "Is a liar. Is a _fantasist_" she emphasized, "I want him in custody _right now_. Will call for remand. I don't want him out of our sight until he tells us exactly what the hell did he do with that poor thing. Am I making myself clear?" Iron Gates was all out in the open.

Beckett nodded in agreement. Then asked- "Sir….what do you think of all this?"

She was surprised to see Gates swallowing a lump in her throat, "Honestly, detective?" she said severely, "Based on that scene outside, and his behavior, I believe we're about to face something far worse than we first thought. And I want to face it right now, and know what it is."

"Yes, Sir", said Beckett quietly, turning to leave the room.

And a bad feeling, which at first just stepped by as an unwelcomed guest, suddenly settled firmly in her gut, feeling her from head to toe.

Her gaze wondered around the now empty room, her eyes sent to the lone picture on the white board. "Where are you, Rose?" she asked the small person in the image, "What have they done to you?"…

* * *

**A/N- The song mentioned is called "In a red dress" sang by the Nahal. It supposed to be a cheerful song, however, under some circumstances, it is also incredibly sad.**

**Next chapter will come soon.**

**P.S- please note one simple thing. not one single angsty thing I bring here, is a redundant detail. It'll all makes sense in the end. *hint-hint***


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Castle. Andrew Marlowe does.**

**I don't own any other non-Castle Character.**

**They are all real people.**

* * *

_~~~"Executioner! Here is a neck to hew_  
_With your mighty axe. Put me down like a dog._

_My blood is fair game. From the skull you sever  
Bursts the blood of old men, the blood of children.  
Murder's blood be on you forever".~~~_

– H. N. Bialik, "On The Slaughter"_._

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

August:

Ronald Ransone was officially brought to remand that very same night, and he lawyered up with one of the best of New York's attorneys. They used to call her "Mad-dog Swaid" and not for nothing. Years of dealing with crooks, criminals, and tough drug dealers, made her one of the less appreciated legal representatives by the police department.

She gained that title fair and square, thank you for asking.

Marie-Charlotte demanded (more than once), to see her husband, and that he himself, will be able to see his daughters. The request wasn't answered at first, and then, after 4 days, she was brought into custody herself. The two daughters were sent to Mia's guardianship.

A sweeping gag-order still hanged over this entire case.

That Monday, Ransone seemed exhausted and jittery in the interrogation room. In front of him, sat Beckett and Castle. Beckett no longer tried to hide her impatience with him; each version he gave so far was refuted.

Rose was in no boarding school in Manhattan or Queens. She was not under her father's guardianship or her grandmother's watch. Vivian didn't know where she was, nor did Mia, like Ransone claimed two days earlier.

The cops working the case slowly began to realize that the man sitting here was simply trying to fool them. And 'Iron Gates' didn't let anybody fool the department.

That was Ransone's biggest mistake.

The day began like any other day in the past week. The officers asked questions, which he avoided, or twisted around. His answers, if given, were cryptic.

"Vivian looked after her, like always," He told Beckett, his cuffed hands on the table, "I wanted to find a solution for her, so Marie won't be mad at me, and come back home. So each day I came and took Rose to see if today I can find some arrangement. My mother didn't like it."

"Where did you take her to?" asked Castle.

Ransone cluck his tongue, "At the first time, I did take her to that school in Queens. But it was closed. So I hung around with her for the afternoon, and two hours later, she began to fuss, and said "hungry", over and over again. I had nothing to give her, so I took her to McDonalds, bought her the kiddy-meal. She said "Yucki" on the food, and I tried to give her the French-fries with some ketchup, so she'll stop fussing and eat, and suddenly, she began wailing and crying, so I slapped her. Then she calmed down. I took her back to my mother's place, didn't want to look at her anymore that day. I got mad at her for saying the food was gross. There are starved children in this world".

'And there are children whose parents don't abuse them,' Castle thought, disgusted, but said nothing.

"And then what happened?"

"My mother asked me why was the girl crying. Demanded to know why I am being 'cruel' to her, said that she is scared of me, that I confuse and frustrate her. So I told her that Rose makes a mess no matter _what_ I do. That all I am trying to do is find a solution. So she told me that I better think of one _now_, because we can't keep living like that."

"Go on".

"And I picked her up twice more, after that incident. I thought, maybe I'll take her to Mia, but Mia said she doesn't want to take care of Rose. Said she has no problem with her, that she is a fine child, but that it was not her responsibility, but mine. Rose played outside with my nephew until it was time for us to drive back home; and that was it. On the third time I took her to 'Doña Martina'."

"Who was that?" asked Beckett.

"A missionary woman in east Manhattan, she has this place, where they take abandoned children in, and feed them and take care of them. Some crazy people. I came in touch with them through a friend. I came to her, and said- 'I have a girl child for you,' and she went all –'How wonderful, a girl, I always wanted a girl, we have only boys here, I yearned for a girl for so long', I told her I'll bring Rose to her, in Mid-May. Took that bag and put some clothes in, and took Rose and we took off."

"Ok, and then what happened?" demanded Beckett.

"When we reached our destination, it was dark. Rose was sleeping. I called Martina from the car, she lived on the third floor in that storey-building, so she came down outside. I pointed on the back seat; she opened it, and saw Rose there. She began crying- "What a beautiful baby", and took her, and held her, and Rose then woke up, and she got all confused and started crying for my mother, and Doña Martina calmed her down. She told me not to worry, that she'll take good care of her, and just asked me not to tell anyone about her or that place, because she was afraid of the cops. So I kept quiet. From everyone. Including my mother".

Beckett and Castle exchanged looks. A mission? 'Doña Martina'? it all sounded way out there, "And you just gave Rose to that woman?!" she arched an eyebrow, "No questions asked?! Who leaves a child like that?"

Ransone shrugged, "We just wanted her out of our lives, is all," he said indifferently, "And that woman wanted her; doesn't mean I did anything wrong. I did a good thing, here".

"I need the address of this place," demanded Beckett.

Ransone's forehead wrinkled in concentration, "East 98th Street on Lexington Avenue," he said, "Right above the laundry place. An old yellow building".

* * *

"NYPD! Hands in the air!" the uniforms broke into the small apartment in the address given. Their dramatic entrance startled the house's residents. Four women rose in panic from the floor, taking the frightened children along with them, clinging to them and the wall; the men immediately jump to their defense, hiding them behind the adult males.

And the children.

The children.

The house was full of them. Dressed in dirty clothes, their eyes haunted.

Beckett guessed, at least 20. They sat on the floor, panicking.

"Next to the wall, don't move!" the armed cops barked at them, the women started crying, holding onto the children. One of the men, 7 in number, tried to overcome one of the cops, only to be held back fiercely.

Castle's gaze wandered over the children. Tall, short, black, Caucasian, massive, skinny, blonds, Hispanics…. Each and every kind of child was there to find, and….boys.

They were all boys.

"Which one of you is Doña Martina?" barked Beckett, shocked and disturbed by the view in front of her, not letting herself be distracted, though.

There was no answer.

She insisted again, waving her tag threateningly, "Doña Martina!"

After a few seconds, a fleshy woman, her hair going grey, her eyes frightened, stepped forward in admission.

"Where is Rose?" snapped Beckett.

The woman offered a confused glance back.

Yes.

Confused.

Esposito, then, figured out the problem. From his breast-pocket he pulled out a wrinkled photo of the child Rose, "Usted tiene esta niña?!" he enquired, his voice rough, "Dónde está Rose?!"

The woman's eyes winded in fear, "No sé!" she cracked, flinching, "Solamente tenemos varones! No la tengo está niña!"

Esposito's lips pursed in anger, and he growled in frustration, kicking a nearby chair. To Beckett's quizzing look, he responded, "They have only boys. She doesn't have any idea where Rose is".

* * *

He sold her to gypsies.

He forgot her in a local market.

He sent her abroad.

There wasn't a scenario they didn't go through. Through Swaid he gave them any version that didn't include sending Rose to Mars. This whole thing was getting ridiculous.

They feared of the possibility of removing the gag-order. If Rose was indeed sold or transferred or trafficked to God-knows-where, what if the person holding the child, kills her once this whole thing becomes public, out of fear of being discovered?

They couldn't risk that.

After 4 days of a very well functioning cooperation between the FBI and NYPD, Gates, who took the lead in the investigation, called them all in- "We were instructed to focus our investigation on Marie-Charlotte, from now on," she said, "if the grandfather cannot give the answers, we'll start demanding them from her mother. It's her responsibility, after all".

* * *

Melanie Spancer sat in front of Marie-Charlotte, in the interrogation room. A skinny woman… blue eyes, pale snow-white-like skin, a young face…. She could have easily been mistaken for the purest image of innocence.

A 23 year old girl, basically a child herself, one with no real idea about anything, really. Her wandering eyes across the room could tell she doesn't understand what she's doing there to being with.

Melanie was far too clever to fall into that one, though.

Since entering the interrogation room, Marie sank in sorrow. She kept asking why she's under arrest, and when can she finally see her daughters, and Ronald.

Not even once, during the reproaches and questions and demands, she asked about Rose, or her current location.

"Why don't you let me see my girls?" she passed a hand through her hair in frustration, "Don't you think they miss me?" she tried to play the blame-game on Melanie.

Not a good idea.

Melanie snorted, "You're sitting here crying 'cause you had to leave your twins for three _days_, while your firstborn is missing for three _months_? Are you kidding me?!" she huffed in disgust, "Nobody knows where she is, and you don't even care! _Why_ don't you _care?_ She's you're _daughter_, isn't she?!"

Marie-Charlotte didn't back down, "I don't know her!" she argued, "I really don't know her!"

"You don't?!" reproached Melanie, "Then who does?"

"Her grandmère, Vivian!"

* * *

Outside, in the main hall, Beckett questioned the great-grandmother, Vivian. She was not under arrest, she simply sat next to Beckett's desk, a warm cup of coffee in her hands, and she's tired looking.

"When did Rose arrive New York?" asked the detective, her eyes wondering over the room filled with cops, running about, checking every possible scenario given by Ransone.

"The beginning of March," said Vivian hoarsely, "Marie flew to bring her in February."

"And how did Rose behave with them?"

"She was scared," admitted Vivian, "She didn't understand what her place in the family was. She didn't recognize Marie and didn't understand who Ronny was. She was frustrated and agitated. Kept asking for a woman called Brigitte; later I understood it was her caregiver in France. She didn't understand what was she doing here, why is the environment so different, and why doesn't Brigitte come to take her back to where she thought she belongs."

"And how did her parents deal with her behavior?" asked Castle, her gaze mirroring her gloomy mood.

"They didn't," she said, "deal with it, I mean. Marie would get angry seeing Rose crying. She said it brought her headaches. Kept saying that Rose is a trouble-maker. That she misbehaves. That there is something wrong with her, she's "not normal"."

"And then what happened?"

"Ronny brought her over," Vivian answered, "I thought, for a day. Two days, maybe a week. I don't know. It's been over a month, and he called only twice to ask about her. I didn't mind having her around, she is a wonderful child, but I didn't get what he was planning on doing next. And Marie was completely off-Radar. After a month, I suddenly got sick, and called Ronald and told him I cannot take responsibility anymore, and that he needs to register her into an educational-system. So he came over and took her, and later on that month, he brought her to me again".

"Let me ask you this," Beckett interrupted, "This whole time she was with you, the first time around, did she get to see any of her parents? Was she in touch with them?"

Vivian shook her head in refusal, "No," she said, "Not Marie, or Ronny. They didn't come to visit, or showed any interest in her, whatsoever".

"And how was she with you?"

"At first she was frightened; she defecated in her pants often. After a few days, I realized she just wasn't potty-trained. So I taught her to use the toilet by herself, and cooked healthy food for her, and she starting behaving like a complete normal 4 year old girl. She didn't harm herself in any way while staying with me. I brought my grandson over, Mia's boy, and she played with him, and laughed and painted. She was at ease, and didn't cause any trouble."

"For how long did she stay the second time around?"

"I don't remember," admitted Vivian, "Maybe two weeks, I'm not sure".

"And then what?"

"He burst in, that day, filled her bag with clothes, took Rose, and left. I haven't seen her ever since."

* * *

"….And we arrived alone to New-York, and they waited for us there…" Marie-Charlotte continued, "And the glass-doors opened, he stood there and then…" she smiled suddenly, "that was it".

"That was it? Like that?" Asked Melanie, "It was love at first sight?"

"Yes," nodded Marie, smiling.

"How old were you, then?" Melanie enquired.

"19."

"Then you and Ben broke up?" was the question. Marie nodded, "You stayed here, and he took Rose to France?"

Marie nodded again, "Ronny is the love of my life," her smile broadened, "I'll do everything for him".

"And after 3 years, you found out Benjamin was abusing Rose?" Spancer kept asking.

Her smile fading, Marie shook her head, "Yes," she claimed, "And I flew to bring her back".

"So what went wrong?"

Marie sighed, "I don't know!" she blurted out, "she didn't fit in here, she made a mess! I take her to classes, it's not good enough, I take her to a restaurant, it's not good enough! The house stank from piss and poop! Screaming all the time, hitting her sisters! Enough! I couldn't _stand_ her any longer! Couldn't bear to look at her!" her anger rose.

So did Melanie's, "So why did you fly over there to bring her in the first place, knowing she's gonna be a handful?" she barked, "Because you knew you're going to have a hard time keeping up with her, you knew," and Marie had no choice but to agree, "So why didn't you just leave her there?"

"With who?" Marie protested, "Her father? She wasn't with her father!"

"Then who was she with?"

"With the…" trying to find the words and failing, she rolled in French, "Lau services sociaux!"

'Social services', translated Melanie innerly, "Then why bringing her here? She was better off in France, was she not?"

After a few seconds, Marie agreed, "Yes! She was!"

"You bring her here to New York, and few months later, she's off the grid!" blamed Spancer.

"Because I thought," she took a breath, "I thought she's going to be happy with me!"

"Oh yeah? So what did you do with her, now?!"

"I didn't…" she stopped, considering, "I hope she's happy! I hope she has a smile on her face, and that she's very happy!"

"No, precious, now you can be sure she's not happy!" Spancer fumed, "Now she's incredibly _sad_! Where is she?!"

"I don't know!" insisted Marie.

* * *

All while the grandfather, mother, and great-grandmother, were simultaneously interrogated, detectives and agent ran about from one floor to another; did the grandmother say anything new? Does the mother admit to anything? What new detail was given?

Mia was brought at noon into questioning, as well, along with her husband. 'The circling door' was the method, cops trying to prevent suspects from seeing one another, making sure to cross or cancel any detail given to them, with known facts.

* * *

"You're now on remand!" Beckett informed Marie-Charlotte with a stern voice.

"But, _why_? What did I _do_?" questioned Marie in puzzlement.

Castle felt disgusted, 'She seriously just asked that? Doesn't she get how serious this is?' he felt like screaming.

"Your daughter disappeared!" said Beckett's accusing voice, in the umpteenth time.

"Yeah…and?" Marie shrugged, in surprise, and indifference, the insensitivity projecting from her like a skunk's scent.

"What 'Yeah, and?!'" Beckett couldn't believe what she was hearing, "_Where_'s Rose? Alive?! Dead?! _Where_?!"

"I," Marie laid her cuffed hands on her chest, in an honesty-like gesture, "I hope she's fine!"

"I hope she's fine, too!" Beckett stated the obvious, "But you know what the difference is?" she pointed at Rose's silent photo on the table; "Difference is that you're her mother, _I'm_ not her mother, _you_ are!"

"A four year old is missing," said Castle, "Nobody knows where she is ("Yes, and?"), and that's your responsibility!" he just didn't get it. He never came across a mother like this one. Even Meredith, with her self-centrism and negligence of Alexis, didn't treat her like this woman does her daughter. Marie's all aura cried, 'I can't stand her, don't interrupt my routine with questions about her'.

How can this woman sleep at night?!

"Yes, yes!" called Marie, "I am responsible! And furthermore, I am a mother!" she yelped, "of two girls!"

"THREE!" roared Beckett.

"Two girls!" insisted Marie, "_Two_! Rose was never my daughter!"

* * *

"So, there are three girls in the house," ensured Brown, questioning Vivian, "The twins he…"

"Spoils," completed Vivian, "Brings them gifts, and toys, and cubes, and stuffed animals…"

"And his wife's kid is abused and neglected."

"Well, Marie wasn't all that pure, either!" she certified, "I was right there, when she did it!"

"Did what?" asked Brown, writing her words down.

"She takes the older twin, holds her and caresses her; picks up the younger baby, kisses her and praises her….Rose looks are her with round eyes, and Marie tells her, "Keep crying, keep crying…"" rage was evident on Vivian's old features, "And I told her, 'What are you doing?', 'who does that?!', 'It's disgusting!', and when Rose stays the night, and I explain that she shouldn't hurt herself, she tells me- "Maman ne m'aime pas"- "_My mommy doesn't love me…_.""

* * *

Hours passed, Swaid met with Ronald twice. Observing the investigation, Gates and Brown consulted about their next step.

No clear answers were given, yet.

Observing Marie's interrogation, Gates called the detectives in; "Bring both of them together," she instructed, "And let them be," she came up with the idea, "Let's see how open they are with one another once there is no cop to 'interrupt' them".

* * *

When Ronald was permitted into the interrogation room, seeing his wife for the first time in days, her eyes lightened, and she threw herself into his arms, as much as it was possible, with two cuffed suspects. Hugging and kissing him, she cried, "Ronny!" her eyes tearing up in excitement, "Finally, they let me see you!"

His gaze traveling over her body, he ensured, "Are you ok?" his voice concerned and tired, "Food in internment is no good," she saddened.

"Would you like poison, better?!" whispered Castle in anger from the observation room, Beckett then shushed him.

"How are Rauschel and Lily?" asked Ronald, "Are they feeling ok at Mia's? did they let you see them, or be with them?"

"No," Marie shook her head in depression, "The officers didn't let me see them, nor they told me how they're doing in the passing week. Mia was here but they didn't let me see her either," her voice wept.

"Come, sit," he pointed at the chair, and they sat, he pulled Marie close, her hands reaching to touch and caress his face, she covered him with small kisses and offered endless smiles, "I've missed you so," she purred in yearning.

"Me, too" Said he, "It's hard to sleep without you by my side! I can't wait for us to come back home and unite with our daughters, finally…"

"I can't, either," she answered, "But I don't know if they'll let us. They don't answer me when I ask about our babies. They keep asking about Rose. Always Rose Rose Rose…"

His gaze wandered across the room, "They watch us, you know," he whispered, "We're not really alone".

Nodding melancholically, Marie whispered, "I know".

After long seconds, in which the detectives in the observation room wondered whether they'll get some answers soon, or not, seconds in which Marie kept caressing and pecking her husband, he finally said- "My Marie, forgive me; I told him I sent her into a French boarding school, but I lied. I didn't. She's not there."

Marie just smiled, kept touching his face, passing a long finger across his chin, "Don't be afraid, Ronny", she said in a singing voice, "It's not that bad".

Few seconds later, her smiled broadened, "I know, you said…-" she started, "You put her in the Mission with the woman from Uruguay".

Behind the thick glass, Castle's eyebrows narrowed.

"Yes," confirmed Ronald with a nod, "I did, you told me to".

"You took the red bag, in which you put her clothes, and you picked her up from your mother's place to that apartment, Ronny".

"I can't remember, did I prepare the bag, or was it you?"

"You, Ronny, it was you".

"I told them earlier that we both decided on this place, where we put her," he added, "That it was our decision, to put her there, so she'll be fine".

"True," Marie praised him, caressing him, her eyes sparkling, "We just wanted her to be ok…"

Behind the glass, Gates all but growled, Beckett shook her head in repugnance, "See that, Castle?" she pointed at the couple inside, "That's a classic SVC right there! Who gave the ok for them to have the same lawyer, anyway?!" and with a sigh, she added, "I don't get it".

"Completely useless," exhaled Gates, "Take him back to holding. And check out this apartment, again. I want to cover all bases, there".

Ryan and Esposito nodded, then left the room.

* * *

Their classic "Versions coordination" increased the feeling in Gates that something deeper, darker, is going on here.

Marie wasn't at all surprised that her husband changed versions every two minutes, and furthermore, she tried to encourage him to rhythm the incidents with her, so they'll seem synched and logical.

Three hours later he was again brought into the interrogation room, and looked tired and on edge. His separation from Marie did him no good, he seemed exhausted.

Brown and Beckett sat in front of him; "Don't think we don't get what you're trying to pull, here," Beckett started, "I don't know what Marie knows exactly," she leaned in front of him, her eyes glinting dangerously, "But I know she knows _something_. Nothing of which happens here surprises her. If I want, I load this whole thing on her, do you follow me, Ronny?" she hissed threateningly.

Her voice was stern, mercilessly so.

Brown's lips pursed in wrath.

His eyes wondering between them, Ransone was taken aback, suddenly; "Responsible for what?!" he cried in panic, "She doesn't know a thing! Leave her alone! It was all me!"

"Doesn't know _what_?" forced Beckett, sensing there is a lead here, one she must grasp tightly, "What did you do, that you don't want her to know about?" she demanded.

His gaze deeping, Ronald bit his lip, reproaching, "You're here, threatening Marie and my daughters! You know I'll tell and admit to anything if you just let them go! You saw that occurring for an entire week! But none of this is Marie's fault! It was my responsibility and my fault alone!" he clarified.

Beckett's gut twisted, the bad feeling washing over her again; she couldn't care less about Marie right now, her commitment was all to Rose, "Ronald," she asked, better say, demanded to know, "Your granddaughter disappeared on May 25th after you took her from your mother's place," he eyes searched his, trying to grasp any kind, even in the smallest amount, of honesty in them, "Tell us, what did you do to her?"

His tongue wetting his lips, he pressured, "If I tell you, you have to promise me to let my wife go, and retrieve my little girls".

"If you don't tell us, you can be sure your wife will see your home only in pictures". Beckett refused to drop this bone.

After a few seconds, she pressed again-

"Ronny," she hissed in ire, "What. Have. You. _Done_?!"

He sighed, dropping his gaze to play with his cuffed fingers, "Marie said she won't come home unless Rose is out of our lives," he began, admitting in defeat, "I tried to find some arrangement, but came up empty," his voice shook, and a small tear was almost evident in his eyes, "I was angry at this entire situation," he confessed, "My wife has a bag, I red one, she was attached to it since childhood, that was the bag in which she hidden her dolls when she was young. A pretty big travel-bag. I took it, and drove to my mother's place," he took a long breath, Beckett didn't dare to interrupt, "I took the girl, I put all her stuff in the bag, all her clothes, her pacifier…we drove back home…" his voice hoarse, he cleared his throat.

"Ok, and then?"

He fell back into silence, apparently having tough time putting his thoughts into words.

"And?!" insisted Beckett, "_Ronald_!"

"My mother lives in north Manhattan; we drove back south on the 9A towards SoHo…the Hudson river was on our east…" Ronald continued, "I peeked through the driver's mirror, noticed that Rose no longer looked outside, it was dark and she fell asleep…I took the exist on the 79 street, near the Marina. I parked the car. Didn't see anyone there…"

A feeling of 100 pounds of ice-cubes falling on her head, filled Beckett, giving her the chills; "I got out of the vehicle…opened the trunk where I put the bag, pulled it out, then went to open the back-door. I pulled Rose out of the back seat, she was sound asleep…" his voice felt strangled, "I laid her on the bag, or…maybe underneath it…I arranged her clothes nicely, the way she always liked. Then I took her in my armes, and gently put there inside the bag…"

Brown's eyes winded.

"I walked the 200 meters…then closed the zipper….and with one motion, I didn't check, just….got rid of it all…"

Silence filled the interrogation room.

Silence was in the observation room.

Beckett gulped.

"Write down, detective…" Ransone's melancholic voice became anemic, robotic, suddenly-

"I killed Rose and threw her body into the Hudson River."

* * *

**A/N-**

**Yeah. **

**I did just stop there.**

**After writing down that chapter I had to go down the kitchen and have some warm tea and a chocolate cookie.**

**I needed a hug, too.**

**More to come, soon.**


	8. Chapter 7

**Fourth Part- Chekhov's Gun**

* * *

_~"One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it."~_

* * *

**Chapter 7**

The End of August:

It almost seemed like the world stood still. All while Beckett wrote down his confession, she tried to grasp what he just told her.

In the academy, she was taught, something she learned during her field work, as well- that one of the basic things a cop should refrain from doing, is getting attached to the victim. Don't empathize, don't judge, don't get too close to the case.

She needed to remember this lesson now, more than ever, as a wave of emotion threatened to pervade her.

Because, how can one possibly _not_ judge?...

"And… when was that?" she asked, a bit hoarsely, her eyebrows frowning.

Ransone seemed thoughtful, "around 8PM, give or take. I'm not sure. We left my mothers' around 5, drove down the northern shore; there were some people there, still. I asked if any of them wants a child, but came out empty. I walked with her till she got tired, and fell asleep once we were back in the car. From there we drove south, was about 8PM, I guess.

"So let me get this straight. You say that you put Rose in the red bag, and tossed her into the river alive," Beckett confirmed.

Ransone nodded.

Something about this scenario seemed…off, somehow; "And she didn't wake up? You didn't give her anything? Didn't drug her or anything else?"

Ransone shook his head vigorously, "Oh, no!" he protested, horrified, "God forbid, God forbid. It never even crossed my mind".

Beckett went over the file, again; Brown approached the table in silence, not trusting himself to say a word. He knew once he tried saying something, he'll snap. "You drove the 9A, heading south-west, took the 79 exist, is that correct?"

Ransone nodded again.

"Fine," said Beckett, closing the folder, standing up, "Have some rest, tonight, Ronald. Tomorrow you're going to take me there. I want to know exactly where your granddauther was last seen".

* * *

At 5AM they left the station, Beckett and Ransone, heading west. Took the 9A, exist 79, on their way to the Marina. At distance, dawn was breaking slowly, the sun cracking the soft dark horizon.

The Marina was deserted.

Approaching shore on the southern side, Ransone pointed at a far location in the distance, "There," he said, "I got out of the car; Rose was inside the bag already. I walked that distance over here," he gestured on said location, "from the parking lot, and then…" looking into the water in a screaming silence, he gulped, "I got rid of the bag".

Wetting her lips, Beckett tried to take in his words, find some meaning in them; she rolled the scenario in her mind over and over. From the car, to the parking lot, to the promenade, over here…

One red bag….

Not such a long distance, but with a still living child inside? It's absurd! "I don't understand," she muttered abruptly, "Having a little girl with you, still breathing, but inside the bag," her forehead wrinkled, "You didn't think, maybe she'll start crying? Or screaming, or try to struggle herself out?"

Shaking his head 'No', he said, "I was here alone. It was dark; there was no one in sight, so…" approaching the water, he added, "I didn't want to look at her. I knew once I do, I won't be able to…" he gestured with his hands around the spot they were standing on.

"Finish her off?" completed Beckett.

He nodded, "I didn't look inside, but I knew I only have seconds before she wakes up from lack of air… So I took the bag and tossed it in. watched it sink… and it was finally over."

Trying to piece together the picture in her mind, and failing miserably, Beckett reminded herself that this is just one more of his endless versions, one most likely to be replaced by another very soon. It wasn't new, that this man's story-telling could put Castle to shame.

Because who throws a living toddler into the river, in a suitcase?!

Trying to see this scenario taking place in her mind, to understand what a 4 year old must be going through, suffocated inside a smelly bag, seconds before being tossed in a river…the heart doesn't get it. The head cannot puzzle it together.

The heart doesn't understand, and doesn't want to, either.

Beckett felt choked.

Her gaze wandering across the river, the water dark and endless and threatening, she felt the sudden need to get the hell out of there; shaking her head, she signed to a still handcuffed Ransone that they're about to head back to the precinct, "Let's go," she said, hoarsely, "There's nothing left for us to do here, anymore".

* * *

Melanie pulled a chair, sitting in front of Marie-Charlotte; It was the woman's sixth questioning in the last few days. Her eyes analyzing the young mother, she hoped against hope that maybe this time, something will sparkle in the empty blue eyes of hers. A shadow of emotion. Something warm.

But nothing.

_Nada._

"It's like… you've decided that _her_ you don't love," said Melanie in a calmed voice, trying to understand.

"N..no, it wasn't like that…" Marie Charlotte stuttered uncomfortably, with a heavy French accent. Seconds later, she surrendered, and with a light shrug, she nodded in defeat.

"Yes, am I right?"

"Yes." Marie admitted finally, her voice brooding, but not at all regretful.

"But _why_?"

"Because…" Marie began, "Because, for me, love doesn't come naturally. It's not on invite. When she was in my house, she cried and screamed and caused such a mess. I didn't want that headache. I wanted her as far away as possible from me and Ronny. I could see that she says things to him, things which influenced him; I didn't want her in the house because I knew that when she's here, she's a handful, making a mess for us, and her, as well. What did I need this pain for? I wanted her out! To just go! I told Ronny that I didn't want her back, that if she comes back I'll go to the bridge and just jump off. I didn't want her hysteric fits in my house, that's what I told him…"

* * *

That same afternoon, civilians passing the Hudson River's promenade could have easily notice the increasing police presence around the area. Vehicles, detectives, CSU teams and divers quickly arrived, traffic jams began to fill the roads on the way south, due to curious drivers trying to figure what this whole mess was really about. Pedestrians and passersby asking what was the meaning of all this, were asked to leave immediately and some were forced away physically.

Nobody knew what they were doing there or what were they looking for, but they presence began to pass as an enthusiastic rumor, like wildfire in dense forest. Mob guys? Drug dealers? What awoken the police department so suddenly, that of all places, in here they were looking for their next case?

* * *

The search parties took place for at least three more days. Divers crossed the river, once, twice, and again; detectives looked for any clue by foot, from the 410 Riverside down to the 96 west street. Computer equipment, special diving cameras, and tracking devices were all brought especially for the detectives' investigation, Master dog trainers and the special dog unite were also called in to assist. Every centimeter on shore, in water, and the vicinity, was toured and checked more than once.

"We begin another day of activity," said special Agent Arnold Parkers, who was responsible for the dry-field search, "We are looking for the most basic thing- whether a fabric, a toy, a pacifier, whatever… up to something that can in profile be similar to the handbag given to us in description. Rickemer's team will take the water," said agent nodded, understanding, "Cogan, your team will take the land today," the blond agent standing on his right gave a slight nod, as well. Parkers waved the photo of 4-year-old Rose for all to see, "This kid hasn't seen home in a long time," he told his people, knowing that many of them are fathers, and can understand the seriousness of the situation, "Dead or alive, we're going to find her. Now let's get on with it!"

* * *

For two more days, the dog-unit and shore-unit searched the area nonstop, but found nothing. One patrol after the other, they came up empty.

Beckett had to call Ransone into 'The box' again, trying to get something more out of him.

"You couldn't find her," said Ransone in a singing, almost mocking, tone. He was scoffing at them, jeering and taunting; Rose was a tool he felt no shame of using, to get back at them for locking him up, separating him from his wife and children. 'I succeeded in fooling you,' his beady eyes told her, 'And I still do…I am always one step ahead of you all…'

"That's because you're not telling us the truth," said Beckett, gesturing to Castle to sit down next to her.

"The truth?..." his eyes narrowed in loathing, "The only truth here, is that you don't let me see my wife or my lawyer… you don't tell me how my twins are doing. You want to hear what I cannot possibly tell you, so you guys start looking in the fucking river like she's there at all…"

That drew her attention, "Because that's where you sent us to, Ransone; you admitted to me that you killed the child by throwing her to the Hudson River. You take your statement back?" she made sure.

"What makes you think I would have killed my own child?" Ransone leaned back in his chair, "You're preventing me food and sleep, I would have said I killed Kennedy if that could get you off of my back."

"So basically you're saying you didn't kill her, you say you lied?" confirmed Castle.

With pursed lips, responded Ransone, "I don't know what made you guys think I somehow 'killed' Rose. Truth is that when I saw her last, she was very much alive".

* * *

When leaving the interrogation room, Beckett exhaled impatiently. She had a hard time deciding what was true and what wasn't.

It frustrated her. She was a lead detective, one of the most appreciated at this precinct. She knew how to read people, that was her job. But Ransone was just…A brick wall. His whole personality was a mask.

She couldn't say for sure. Was Rose alive, or has he killed her? No one here was positive of anything, it seemed.

Had he told the truth when admitting of drowning his granddaughter? Or are hostile sources holding her? 30 minutes ago he said he sold her to Egyptian immigrants, who're associated with a Salafi movement attacked to Al-Qaeda. If that was the case, then this case is to be handed over to the SWAT team, something that can create an even bigger mix up for them all. But no, as soon as this possibility was brought up, it was also brushed off. Like he said himself (which was the only truthful thing he said, so far), he would admit to basically everything and anything to throw them off. Literally.

An hour later, the detectives in charge of the investigation gathered up next to Gates' office. She faced them with a severe expression, "Considering the last events, and the fast-spreading rumors, The FBI re-conducted their assessment; This case now involved much higher heads than we previously thought, and it was decided this morning, that it's pointless to keep this case discreet any longer," whispers and mutters filled the room, the captain raised her hand to silence them all, "The gag order will be lifted this afternoon at 3PM," she continued, "Which means our work is going to be much more intensive, but our support and sources will increase, as well. Once this things goes public, this is a whole different level of investigation, I am sure you all understand that, as I demand of you all to act with care and responsibility. That being said, the New York police department will do anything necessary to end this case as soon as possible. I expect you all to demonstrate a high self discipline, complete presence and mission accomplishment. The city of New York trusts us, and will NOT let down the public which we sworn to protect".

* * *

"…The NYPD which is drastically looking for a Manhattan missing girl, 4 year old Rose Ransone. Rose disappeared on May, this year…"

…"3 months after a New-York toddler goes missing from her grandmother's house, the police addresses the public for help- have you seen Rose?"

"…Her height 80 centimeters, speaks English and French, her hair light brown, her eyes blue, was last seen at…"

"A 24/7 open dispatch is available now for the public, whether by phone, E-mail or letters, anyone who has any information concerning Rose's location, please call this number or E-mail…"

"A missing child since May, the New-York police department got the word of it only two weeks ago…"

"Special units surrounding the Hudson River, searching for the child Rose… Civilians are asked to refrain from arriving the area…"

"Even though exact details were yet to be given, police says this is one of the most difficult and complicated cases they faced in the last 5 years…Rose is missing for more than 3 months, her current condition unknown, law-enforcement authorities fear for her life…"

News and reports filled the television channels starting 3PM, and calls began filling the precinct's offices, as well. Civilians started calling in masses to the hot-lines and dispatchers, most couldn't give useful information, but were asking if they can help with the search-party. Asking if there's everything the civilian force, which was known to be most useful in those cases, can do anything, asking for information themselves. Where was Rose last seen? With whom? Is there any sign of life from her?

In the next 27 hours, the reports which started slowly, gained momentum and more details were released. The gag-order was completely lifted, and the full story was published in TV and newspapers, told for all to see, know, and criticize-

"The grandfather who married the mother admitted of killing Rose- "Mom didn't want her""

"Ransone confessed and reenacted - 'I killed Rose and dumped her in the river'"

"Search for missing child expanded"

"Rose said- 'mommy doesn't love me', used to bang head against wall"

"Where's Rose?"

"From loving parents to brutal killers, is our society rotten?"

Every newspaper in the area published and emphasized Rose's story, it seemed like the missing child affair hit the public like a thunder on a sunny-day.

Calls and fragments of information came in, as well; the old neighbor who suddenly recalled that Rose hardly ever said a word…The far cousin who admitted that when dropping by, right before knocking, he could hear a child's cries and a sudden smack coming from Ransone's house; The salesman at the local store, who said that unlike her sisters, Rose never asked for candies or snacks, that when asking why the older child doesn't get any, the mother gave him the 'evil stare'…

That morning, the phone on Beckett's table rang, and she picked it up, "Beckett".

After a few seconds, a hesitating voice asked, "Are you the detective working on Rose's case?"

Beckett signed for Castle to sit down, turning on the speaker, saying- "Yes, is there something you can help me with?"

His voice almost shy, he said, "Uh, well, my name is Evan Stevens," he began, "I was in touch with Ronny up until 4 months ago, I think… He was my friend from high school".

"Alright," Answered Beckett evenly, "So what can you tell me, Mr. Stevens?"

"Not much," admitted the caller coyly, "I heard you were looking for the child in the Hudson, is that correct?" he asked curiously.

Beckett clucked her tongue, "I can't give you details about the investigation, Mr. Stevens. Everything that can be told was already released to the media. More than that, I'm afraid I'm not allowed to say. But why don't you tell me what you know, and I promise we'll look into it."

"Well, it's not much," said Stevens carefully, "I'm a car-salesman, you see. I used to have this old junk car, used it anytime I needed to deliver office equipment from the Bronx. So one day, Ronny asks for the vehicle because his was in the garage, told me I don't use that old car regularly anyway, asked if he can take it just for the weekend. I said ok, because I honestly didn't mind, and gave it to him. Weeks passed, and I see he doesn't give it back, so I go to him and say, "Ronny, what about the car?", so he takes me aside, whispers- "Listen, I won't lie to you, I had an accident with it, it's total-loss. I didn't get anything for it, and had to pay, on top of that"".

Beckett listened, not interrupting-

"I said, "Ok, so what did you do with it?", he said- "I drove it down the friggin' river"…"

Beckett's eyebrows rose, Castle giving her a meaningful look, nodding, "I was pissed, I asked him 'What did you do that for?' and he said 'It's brilliant. Have you ever tried looking for a _needle in a haystack_? That what trying to find anything in the river, is. That's how you get rid of trash, today' he told me, then he said, 'Don't worry, I'll pay for any damage…."

* * *

Ronald Ransone was brought in front of a judge, again, discussing a further remand. But unlike previous days, when entering the hall, he wasn't at all alone. Journalists and reporters flooded the court house, and his attempts of covering himself or hiding between the guards holding him, didn't help much.

"Tell us where the girl is!" a female reporter from the back of the group called.

"You killed her?" tried one of the photographers.

"You murdered her?" Another asked, pushing the microphone to try and get a word out of Ransone, the guard holding him pushed it away with a hiss.

The remand discussion was quick and without any delay, the judge decided that considering the difficulty and divergence of the case, a remand is necessary in order to help the police getting to the bottom of this 'Disturbing affair', if quoting the judge. Words like 'Benefit of the child' and 'Disturbing facts' were repeated few times during the court hearing.

When leaving the hall, the journalists tried their luck again; When seeing one of the microphones, Ronald Ransone called abruptly, "This admission what taken out of me by force, tell the people that!" his voice shook in resentment, "I would have admitted everything, I killed no one!" he cried, when one of the guards pulled him by his elbow, pushing him towards the door, impatiently.

"But, where is Rose, Ronny?" the young female journalist holding the speaker asked, "Just tell us where Rose is!" she urged.

"Why don't you look for her alive?" his faded voice called when he was finally shoved through the door, "try to find her alive, _alive_!"

* * *

_"Mia Ransone?"_

_"Speaking"._

_"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD"._

_*Sigh*_

_"This is the fifth time I get a call from you in the last two days. What can I help you with, detective?"_

_"This is also the fifth time, unfortunately, that your sibling sends us to you, saying you are the one to speak with if we find out what's going on here."_

_"I already told you, I have no idea what my brother did that day. I haven't spoken with him in months. Not since the last time I spoke with Ben."_

_"And when was that"?_

_"Four months ago, give or take"._

_"Where did he call you from?"_

_"I have no idea. And frankly? I don't care and it's none of my business either. Listen, detective, two FBI agents dropped by at my house today. Freaked the hell out of my little boy. I honestly can't help you, guys. Honest? Damned be the day I ever heard of Ben and Marie. For all I care, they can both just fuck off and die. And my brother too, for that matter._

_"Miss Ransone…"_

_"Ben disappeared, detective. Completely vanished off of the radar", Mia Ransone was quickly losing her patience, "Why do you think that is? For the same reason I want the cops to vanish out of my life, too. It's only a matter of time until they start trashing my ex-husband and me. Are you people trying to ruin our lives, too? To add to what the media is trying to do to us?"_

_"Miss Ransone, we're trying to solve a MURDER case here, do you understand that?"_

_"I read you perfectly clear, detective. And it pains me, it really does, believe me. You have no idea how much. The family is tainted forever over this. But I just can't help you."_

_"We have to find her"._

_"I get that, but I swear to God, I don't know what happened to her"._

_"She's dead, Mia. It's a murder case"._

_Silence went through the line, suddenly._

_"Last time I spoke with my brother, was about 4 months ago. My older sister contacted me about the same time, said that she spoke with Ronny, and that he asked her something that seemed strange to her. It was during that time that I last heard from Ben, as well, or maybe it was later? I dunno…. I just remember he asked me questions, questions I had no answers to. But my sis….she told me about Ronny's request…"_

_She knew that moment that if she ratted on her brother, she's dooming him forever. No taking back the words._

_But it was not a matter of brotherly devotion; it was a matter of justice._

_"What did your brother ask for, Mia?"_

A repeated sigh followed- "He called my older sister about four months ago. I think. I'm not sure exactly when, though. He asked her about an argument she and Marie have had. He asked if she knows a girl, or has a girl, in Rose's age."

Beckett frowned, "What for?" she asked.

"He said that they bother him about Rose, 'haunting him' about Rose, whatever…" on the other side of the line, Mia rolled her eyes, "I don't know the exact details. He asked if he can "borrow" my sister's daughter, even though she was older, just in case, so if the cops come buzzing in, he'll tell them that this is Rose, and they get 'The Hell out'. And the grams will be told that she's find, and won't harass him anymore".

Beckett's thoughts raced, but she said nothing to that, and Mia didn't finish talking, "And It was not the first time such a request was made. At the end of May I get a call from his house, Marie's on the line, asking if I know a 5 year old to bring her. That, too, in order that if asked, they'll just say it's Rose and they'll leave them alone".

Marie, as well? And she called on…the end of May?... "You remember when that was, Mia?" Beckett pushed.

"I'll tell you exactly when that was!" grumbled Mia furiously, "I remember, because it was during a teacher-parent meeting at my son's school. It was on the 22nd, 7 PM".

"The 22nd?!" creaked Castle enthusiastically, "But that doesn't make any sense!"

Beckett understood, "Mia, on the 22nd Marie was still in France, Rose was at Vivian's; Any call from Marie when she was at the USA jurisdictions, should have been made after the 25th of May. Marie said she'll come back only once a solution is found for Rose."

"I don't know what to tell you, detective. But you're a cop, you can easily check that. And I'm telling you I remember clearly that that phone call was on the 22nd - 7 PM. She called from their house, asking me not to tell anyone about this, and If I can get her a 5 year old".

"She lied!", Called Castle excitedly, "I knew it! That woman is the _devil_!"

"I told her I have my son alone, I don't know any little girls, all my son's friends are boys".

"And what exactly did she want?" Asked Beckett, trying to hush Castle's sudden jumpy mood, his mumbles of "devil" and "conspiracy" and "evil woman" interrupting her concentration. "She brought me a story about Ben's mother, Beatrice, and her own old girl, Isabel, giving her a hard time because she failed the maternity exam she took in France. That she's giving them the cold shoulder. She said it shouldn't be a problem, because Beatrice hasn't seen Rose since she was a baby, and Isabel never saw her at all, so she'll give them a toddler with Rose's profile and it will end there."

"And how did you respond?"

"I didn't understand what she wants from me. I told her, 'Marie, what the big idea? if everything's fine, just show them Rose!'; till lately, I was 100% positive that everything's fine! That they're all overreacting! I was sure it was an overkill to ask so much about Rose, she's such a strange brat, anyway. I thought it was all a big drama, because no way my brother will just, get rid of his own child! I mean, _who._ _does_ that?!"

"So, what changed?" asked Beckett patiently.

"I went to put flowers on my sister's grave," Mia's voice turned sad, suddenly, "She passed away shortly after I talked to her, you know".

Even though they disagreed on many aspects, Beckett felt a sudden sorrow and empathy for Mia, knowing how it's like to lose a family member, "I'm sorry to hear that," she said honestly.

This family was full of tragedies.

"We were all in shock, she and her husband were good people, a good family; It was so sad, knowing what was done to them…" at this point, Beckett noticed Castle rose up to approach the murder board, giving it a long stare. Holding back a smile (he was just so _adorable_ doing that!), Beckett kept following Mia's words, "Anyway, she told me she reconnected Ronny about two weeks earlier, even though a family feud we had detached my siblings years ago. After she and her husband died, I went to their place to take care of their things, when I found photos of Rose. I thought it was a little strange."

Beckett tensed, "Your sister knew about Rose?" she asked.

"Yeah," answered Mia indifferently, "I don't know how, but she found out about this whole thing. She talked to me about it later, she said that she's having a hard time knowing Ronald is her official caregiver, she said she knows Rose is not well, mistreated. 'Poor little thing', she described Rose," Mia's tone was almost amused, mocking, "'She probably suffers so much'… she told me she convinced her husband to pull money from his family's bank account so they could save it to fund an adoption process for Rose. My sister wanted to be her new mother, imagine that."

'A mysterious sister in a mysterious tribute', thought Beckett melancholically.

"She said she talked with my brother, and after she argued with him, and threatened him even, they agreed that he will hand Rose over to her…At some point, I guess".

Something about this was just…odd. "And then Rose suddenly disappears…" completed Beckett thoughtfully.

Castle's glare was still stuck on the murder board, a "hmmff" and a "mhhhm" being heard every few minutes.

"Yes, but that was after my sister died, right?"

"When did she die, again?"

"Last month," answered Mia, "She went to pick up her daughter from a family trip, but never came back, not her, nor her husband."

Castle turned around at once; feeling like a bucket of 500 ice-cubes was dropped on his head, he returned to his seat near Beckett's desk, listening eagerly to the still going on conversation. "Wait!" he croaked suddenly, getting more than a few angry glares from Beckett's colleagues; with an apologizing smile, she turned to Beckett again, "Wait!" he called again, "Mia, you said she was about to pick up her daughter from a family trip? Where was that trip?"

"The Central Park," answered Mia, "Why?"

"And how much money you said she pulled for Rose's adoption?" Castle insisted, feeling like he was onto something important. _Extremely_. _Important_.

"I don't know," admitted Mia, "But a lot," Castle's eyes turned to a confused Beckett, his excitement increasing in every passing second, "My guess it was more than a few thousands. They didn't have money problems, I can tell you that much."

"Can it be that they invested on Rose, oh, I don't know…._25 grand_?" he asked meaningfully.

"I suppose so," said Mia with a somewhat bored tone, "They were overly excited about being able to adopt Rose. So I guess it was possible".

In his mind, Castle could still hear the redhead old woman pulling her nose, sobbing, 'He told me not to worry, that the money was for a good cause…'

A good cause.

_A good cause!_

It was so crazily_ obvious_!

"Mia," asked Castle carefully, "What was your sister's name?"

A sudden pause went through the line, and the feeble answer surprised him somewhat, "Justine Rebecca Ransone," she said in embarrassment.

"And I don't suppose that by any chance she… changed her name because of this family feud? Even changed her whole identity? Wanted nothing to do with your family at all?"

Mia's response was heated, almost offended, "Mr. Castle, those are details I don't feel comfortable enough to share with a stranger, and besides…-"

"Oh, no, I'm not judging!" Castle flinched, "I'm just curious, is all. Can it be that your sister disengaged extremely? That she didn't want others to know she belongs to the Ransone family? Is it possible that this family fighting cause her to change her name and identity?"

A strident silence was his answer, and suddenly, "That exactly what happened," admitted Mia, "She completely detached, married her husband almost secretly, we were not even informed about her giving birth. Up until recently, she was a ghost. But then, she got in touch with us again, mostly because of Rose."

"And…what was her name in time of death?" Beckett asked.

"Gaela," Mumbled Mia quietly, "Gaela Swan."

Beckett gasped in shock. Castle nodded in triumph.

_Bingo._

"The married couple in the car!" called Beckett, overwhelmed.

"Imagine that," called castle eagerly, "the disappearing sister finds out that her brother has a granddaughter. That he's abusing her. That her mother doesn't want her, trying to sell her, even. She's planning on adopting Rose, she discovers that…Oh, I don't know, Ronald's trying to find a 'solution' for the girl. But suddenly-poof! She goes missing. She finds out that mommy dearest is looking for the child…-" Beckett's eyes sparkled, and she continued where he left off, "…But unlike Mia, she doesn't think her mother's insane. She's having a bad relationship with her brother, probably knows them better than others. She comes up to him, demanding 'Where's Rose? You promised to hand her over to me'…" Castle nodded vigorously, glad they're on the same page here, that she doesn't think he's 'reaching', and he completes her thoughts, and his- "He avoids her questions, lies, ignores… she starts to suspect something bad happened here… she keeps pushing, Ransone understands he has no choice but to get rid of everything and anyone tying him to Rose… He follows her, trying to talk to her, she brushes him off, and…." There Castle got stuck.

"Yeah, but", Beckett stopped his line of thought, "Eduards killed the Swans, he was caught on the Cab station's cams, his DNA was at the crime scene!" she protested, confused.

"Cab station, cab station…." Mumbled Castle, thinking deeply, "That's where Eduards used to work till just before the murder, right?"

"Well, _yeah_, but"…

"What was Ransone's occupation before he started out his own business, you remember? It was mentioned in the files…"

Beckett's forehead wrinkled in thought, and then cleared, her eyes widening, "A taxi driver!" she gasped.

Damn it!

"A taxi driver," repeated Castle, feeling they just won the lottery, "Let's say, he knew a buddy from there, one who was not afraid to get his hands dirty. A friend, that oh, what a coincidence, knew his sister through a colleague. My guess? He gives him a call. He has money, money for Ransone was never a problem, so he offers Eduards to help him, get rid of the debt if he gets rid of something else, for him. So our suspect confronts the deceased Swan, gets in the car, where the wife is also present. They say, 'Let's talk things through', they don't notice that Eduards' carrying a Glock 45, they drive down the Central, and then…"

"He kills them both" muttered Beckett in horror.

"And making it look like a robbery gone wrong!" concluded Castle. It was so obvious! Because who robs someone, and then committing suicide, leaving the money for all to find?

Beckett exhaled. This whole time they thought and believed and managed the Swan case through Daniel Swan. He was in touch with the mob people. Unsuccessful business, strange money expanses, debts… Can it be that this case was dealt wrongly from the very beginning? That this murder and Rose's disappearance were somehow connected?

"And that, Kate," pointed out Castle, both of them forgetting that Mia was still on the line, "Is _totally_ how I would have written it!"

* * *

**A/N- Sorry I couldn't update earlier. Promise the next chapter will be posted soon.**

**The story is nearing its end, so please tell me what you think. Sorry for the sooo many typos, will work better on fixing that. **


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Wow, can't believe it's almost over.**

**The next chapter is here, please read and review.**

**I was asked which part of this story is real. The answer is, pretty much all of it. All of the non-Castle characters are real people, and the events described here, all happened in reality.**

**I bring the story, not inventing it.**

**Castle still belongs to A.M**

* * *

_"Mercy O Heavens, beg mercy for me!  
If a god be in you, with a way in you,  
A way that I never knew  
Pray unto him for me!"_

H.N. Bialik - 'On The Slaughter'

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"So, let me get this straight," Captain Gates snapped in annoyance, "You want me to reopen a case that was solved, filed and sent almost two months ago, based…on a _hunch_?!" she blinked furiously.

Beckett licked her lips uncomfortably. "Sir," she tried, and had to herself admit that objectively speaking, it did sound kind of lame, "Certain…facts came into our knowledge, that may influence this investigation."

The captain gestured her arms across the office, "Please, do share!" she demanded.

Beckett and Castle exchanged looks, "Well," the female detective began carefully, "Ransone's sister is the deceased Gaela Swan," Gates eyebrows rose and she tensed, "We found out that on the end of May, Mrs. Swan was interviewed to a local newspaper after being voted to become president of her son's school PTA, admitting some…'disturbing' information, for the lack of a better word, concerning the Ransone business, and the Ransone family itself. Rose disappeared on that time period. July arrives, on which the grandmother sends the complaint of Rose's absence. Gaela Swan is killed on that time period. We know she urged her mother to not stop looking for the child. They knew about her being missing. Sir, you know I'm the last to fall into conspiracy theories," she gave Castle a look, and his face wrinkled sulkily, "but the coincidence is just too big to ignore".

"Mhmm," the captain considered thoughtfully, "I have to admit the synch of those events is indeed alerting, but detective…" she leaned on the table impatiently, "There is no chance that the DA will let me reopen this case. All we know is that there are some facts that may or may not be linked to each other, but it's all circumstantial, and that's more than enough for them. What is important now," she stopped, rising from behind the table, "is finding out exactly what happened to this girl," her eyes passed on her and Castle, making sure their priorities are hers, "once we do, that's when we succeed putting all the pieces together. Do I make myself clear?" her eyebrow arched.

Beckett knew how to recognize a lost cause, but she didn't at all mean to give up.

"Yes, Sir," she sighed, turning to leave the room, Castle following right behind.

"Detective," concluded Gates, Beckett turning to give her a tired, yet determined look, "Don't you think for a moment it ends there," her chief warned, her voice uncompromising, "If there is a connection between the Swan murders to Ransone's disappearance, you can be sure we'll find it. All in good time".

A slight smile appeared on Beckett's young face. For now, that'll be enough; "Yes, Sir," she nodded, and finally, joined by Castle, left the room.

* * *

Returning to her desk, Beckett stopped, deep in thought. Looking around, Castle asked, "So now what?"

Beckett tsked, "In my entire career, I never spent so much time in 'The Box', like I did in the last couple of weeks," she chuckled humorlessly, "Like always Castle, we keep asking questions until somebody is kind enough to tell us the tru…" her speech slowing, she spotted Melanie Spancer about to enter and interrogate their female suspect. With hurrying steps towards her, she called, "Hey, Spancer, wait!"

Blinking, confused, she asked, "Yes, detective?"

Biting her lip, sensing Castle right behind her, she tried, "Let me this time, ok?" her voice was quiet, "I've been dying to hear what this woman has to say".

Castle tilted his head curiously.

After a moment of consideration, Spancer smiled kindly, "Ok," with a gesture she added, "go for it," taking a step back.

Nodding thankfully, she was about to enter 'The Box' then suddenly turned around, putting a warm hand on Castle's silky shirt, sensing his warm chest underneath her palm, "Castle, let me have this one alone, ok?" she asked in apology.

With a gentle sigh, he nodded, backing towards the observation room.

Taking a deep breath, Kate entered the interrogation room.

Noticing a different face from the usual, young suspect Marie-Charlotte straightened up in her chair, giving the policewoman a curious gaze.

"Detective Beckett," she rolled with a deep French accent, her voice almost mocking, cynical, "Where is that agent, Spancer? She couldn't face me after humiliating me like that?"

Oh, _please_.

Somebody just kill me now.

"Marie-Charlotte…" Beckett tossed the folder on the table casually, sitting in front of her, clearing her throat, "Lets talk," she smiled, her eyes sparkling.

Behind the glass, Castle tensed. He knew by now that there are times when Beckett's 'kindness' meant bad news for a suspect. It was one of those times, "How are you?"

Marie-Charlotte seemed a bit tired, but the same halo of indifference radiated from her, "The food in prison is bad," she exhaled slowly, "But I guess that what happens when the police are haunting you".

Castle's eyes rolled.

"I can only imagine," said Beckett emotionlessly, her arms leaning on the table, crossed; after a few seconds, she opened the folder, pulling out a small photo of Rose.

The picture was a new one. High quality. In it, Rose was dressed in a soft buttoned up white shirt, and a tiny white skirt. To her tiny legs, were bright-white doll-shoes. To her soft light brown hair was a white pin, the wall behind was deep-wine-red.

Rose was smiling in the picture. A joyful smile, full of clean white teeth.

That photo was taken by a local photographer, in May, while the child was still at Vivian's. The grandmother bought the garment few days previously, and took the toddler to the photo-shop to create some "new memories".

The red background was the wallpaper at the store.

The photographer was immediately enchanted by the child's beauty and cuteness, praising the girl for her smile and patience. "Sourire, Rosie!" he called, beaming, and in a rare to-be-captured moment, she gave out a full, charming, joyful grin, not to be repeated in a long time.

A cherishing smile for that lone happy day Vivian granted her.

Heartbreaking.

"Remember her?" Beckett placed the picture on the table. Marie gave the picture a glimpse, her lips twisting in resentment and aversion, a light shrug, then her eyes returned to Beckett.

The homicide detective was not looking for a response, "Great," she said shortly, turning the picture so all that was seen was a white-bright photopaper, "Because about _her_," she emphasized, "I didn't want to talk today. Today, I wanted to talk about _you_."

Marie-Charlotte blinked furiously, "Me?" she asked, taken aback, and Beckett nodded. Marie smiled suddenly, happy that finally, a more interesting topic is discussed.

Beckett could sense the upcoming chatty mood.

The little one fell into her trap.

"How old are your little twins?" asked Beckett, passing the pan through her fingers distractingly.

Marie's lips starched into a bright smile, "Oh, 18 months old!" she answered, proudly; Beckett found it hard to understand why she couldn't feel such pride about raising Rose.

What did Rose do, to deserve such fate?

"They're very beautiful girls," Beckett continued that line of questioning, wanting her full cooperation, "How was your pregnancy?"

"Oh, magnifique!" sang Marie-Charlotte, "They're divine girls!"

"I'm sure, they're God's gift," continued Beckett, "Ronny loves them very much, doesn't he?"

"Ronny is the best," Marie-Charlotte praised her husband, "A wonderful father".

"I'm sure, those babies changed him…" Beckett threw the fishhook.

Marie frowned, "Changed him?" she asked, confused, "I don't understand".

"Oh, Marie," Beckett's melodious voice answered, "Oh know better than I do, that once he wasn't such a caring family man. Before meeting you, he used to be quite the womanizer…" Beckett gave a joking smile.

Marie's smile broadened, "Of course!" she chuckled, "That was before we married! But he loves our family and takes care of us wonderfully! Well, except for now, after they locked him up…"her voice saddened.

"That must be awful," sympathized Beckett ('I think I'm gonna hurl'), "When you two fell in love, you wished to get married quickly, am I correct? He wasn't interested in those bimbos, anymore, right? They distracted him…"

Marie nodded rapidly, "Yes," she said, "All those trashy-cheap women, I told him- 'Once we're together, you get rid of them all, I don't want them around'".

The fish spotted the bait, "And he agreed, of course?"

"Of course he did! He didn't want to lose me!" called Marie-Charlotte, "then we got married and brought beautiful girls".

"Mhmm," mumbled Beckett, "and where did you guys live?"

"Uhhh, eh… here, in Manhattan," answered Marie.

"No, no, you guys had a house few years back, you moved," notified Beckett, waiting to see if the fish will latch on the offered bait, "You lived someplace else".

"Oh yeah," Marie recalled, "We lived in Queens".

"It says here," Beckett opened the folder, going through the list, "that you sold your house, Marie. Why did you do that?"

Marie's broad smile faded immediately.

Bingo.

"We sold because those cheap women would come to our place…" she grumbled, "And demand to see my Ronny" Marie announced.

"Ah-Huh", responded Beckett, "That's interesting; I understand they'd come to your house…while you were pregnant with the girls? They saw you with the belly?"

Their suspect nodded.

"Please, tell me more about it. Don't forget you're in questioning."

Nodding, Marie hissed abruptly, angered, "One of those cheap women, an ex of Ronny, Juliannah something, came into our house, demanding to see him. She saw me, and still insisted on seeing him, even after I told her we were together, that she should just get lost".

Licking her dry lips, the young woman continues, "I fought with her, it became physical, she pushed me, and then," her arm waved in the air, she said, "I gave her one," a palm rose, "a strong slap".

Beckett's eyebrows arched, "She told me, 'I'll may you pay for it, bitch', and then I told her…"

"Told her…?"

"That if she comes over once again, I'll kill her; who did she think she was? Trying to steal my Ronny? I made it very clear that she did something very stupid. Nobody will take My Ronny from me. He loves me alone and cares for me alone. 'Whoever tries to drive us apart, will pay dearly', I told her."

"Yes, but that was all trashtalk, right?" pushed Beckett, "Because she didn't show up again…"

"No," shaking her head, Marie clarified, "She got the message".

"You're a very jealous woman, Marie-Charlotte," Beckett released a soft fake laugh, pretending to be amused by all this, and Marie smiled back, "I know," she admitted, "but Ronny's mine, no one will take him from me".

"That's understandable," Beckett wrote down the last exchange of words, "That was the reason you sold the house? So the crazy exes won't show up anymore?"

"Yes," admitted Marie.

"And whose idea was it, to sell?"

"Well, mine, of course".

The fish caught on the hook was fattened and juicy.

"And Ronny agreed?" Beckett kept pushing.

"At first, he wasn't all for it, but I insisted, and he gave up his refusal. Said that for our love, he'll do anything".

"He would do anything for you, Marie, wouldn't he?" examining the woman carefully, knowing that for a change, she'll get an honest answer.

Marie's expression was dangerous, "Of course," she smirked, amused, "our marriage is everything to him".

"Thank you, Marie," Beckett rose from the chair, "We're done here".

Leaving towards the observation room, Beckett saw that Ryan, Esposito, the Captain, Castle, and Melanie and Brown were all there and watching, "Good work, detective," her voice expressed satisfaction, one mixed with much sadness.

'Good work?' thought Castle, confused; He loved Beckett very much, was thrilled and excited everytime he saw her in action, but this time, it didn't seem at all like a questioning, more like a friendly gossip between girls; "Nice work?" he voiced his thoughts allowed, "we didn't get anything from her!"

"Castle. Bro." Esposito turned to him, almost disappointed, "A good questioning is not about cutting questions. It's what you get from the unsaid answers, that matters here."

"Ok, so…what did we learn?"

"What we learned," said Beckett, passing the folder to the captain, "Is that _Marie_ is the one orchestrating this whole thing, that _was_ orchestrating this from the very beginning" Beckett knocked on the glass once, clarifying, "A seemingly indefinite question like- 'Why did you sell the house' says a lot, Castle. Marie is the one giving the tone, here. The one making all of the important decisions."

"Definitely", agreed Spancer, "That was our vibe after questioning Ransone, too. Marie has her fair part about what's going on here. She's the _fuel_ of what's going on here. Absolutely nothing takes her by surprise."

"Take her to the field," ordered Gates to the agents, "I want to see what happens once she's out of her routine".

Nodding, they both left the room.

Gates, Esposito and Ryan followed right behind.

Approaching the thick glass, Beckett's gaze was fixed on a still thoughtful Marie, "Ransone didn't kill that baby, Castle," whispered Kate, her eyes narrowing in contempt, still focused on Marie, "_She_ did".

* * *

"Our conclusion is unequivocal," Spancer and Brown lead the meeting, after returning from the field patrols, "While we cannot determine whether Rose is alive or dead, and assume we're looking for a body," he continued, "What we can say is, that Marie-Charlotte is full accomplice of whatever happened to her child," he added, the officers following his words, writing them down, "However, our focus is still on Ransone himself. We learned that the previous spot of search was incorrect, we should have started south-west, instead of north-east," pointing at the map, he guided, "right about…here. Uniforms now cover each meter between the Central and SoHo, the orders are clear, though. We continue pushing Ransone's buttons, till he cracks and tells us what happened to the girl".

* * *

It was a warm evening when Beckett sat infront of Ransone in the interrogation room, her impatience reaching new levels by now. Going through the files, she didn't miss any detail. Every photo, file, note, letter, was observed, and the still unanswered nagging question kept bothering Beckett.

Why.

Why why _why_?

With a sigh, she began, "Ronny, let me tell you what happened here," she wasn't asking questions this time, she didn't feel the need to, she knew what happened, just needed to put the pieces together, "Marie _lied_," Beckett announced, "She wasn't about to let you deal with Rose; that was never her intention. She simply didn't trust you for that," his eyes ran about, telling her it was the time to cut to the chase here.

"She flew to Paris on May 3rd, intending to come back once Rose is out of the picture…but in letters, she understood you weren't about to give her offhandedly. With all your abuses, cruelty, and aggression, something inside of you felt sorry for Rose. Because like _her_, when you were young you felt like nothing you ever did was good enough for Vivian…" his eyes kept running about the room, forehead wrinkled, "Unlike Marie, you felt Rose wasn't _that_ different from you, but she frustrated you, looking _so much_ like Ben, treating her siblings badly, being such a weird child…."

Beckett began pacing, her voice cold, full of reproach, "But even with you being an abusive scum, inside, you were very weak, Ronald. Marie is a beautiful woman, you couldn't afford to lose her, not for a 4 year old" her eyes were hard, blaming, "Marie knew that you didn't have the heart to do what it takes, she felt like Rose was becoming the house's 'poor victim', that she was taking your attention from what mattered really….her". taking a breath, she added, "So it made no real difference between her 4 year old child and a cruel ex-lover. like an ex-lover, Marie wasn't about to let Rose _steal you_ away..."

Her arms crossed, she continued, "So she was not about to let you deal with the problem, she knew you good enough. Oh, you tried, you'd do anything for Marie, she knew that. But trust? She didn't trust you in the least!"

Ransone's head bowed in shame, "So what does she do? She comes back the United States at May 20th…" his gaze rose, he tried to say something, but was completely silenced with a wave of a hand, "For days, she plans it all… she calls your sister Mia…your sister Justine…" he shivered once Justine's name was brought up, "All just for in case people start asking questions about her older daughter"…

Sitting, she opened the folder, pulling out an old photo, a 3 year old Rose holding the hand of her caregiver Brigitte; holding a lollipop, she smiled and waved at the camara, "On May 25th you come to pick up Rose from your mother's… you take the red bag, the clothes, the toys, the pacifier…you tell your mother you registered Rose to a boarding school, something you never did…" Ransone kept quiet, "You take her back home, where your wife is waiting for her to arrive. That same night, or maybe the day after, or few days after…your wife _kills_ Rose…" Ransone's eyes widened, "Then Marie tells you- 'Get rid of it all', and you're such a loyal loving husband, with such guilt eating at you over being dominating with your wife, you'd do anything and everything to make her happy. You go to the Hudson River, and put Rose's dead body in the red bag, and dump her there."

His lips pursed, he insisted, "Marie has nothing to do with this," he gulped, "It was all me, me alone".

It was obvious to Beckett that he'd say this. It was both his, and Marie's intention, that under any situation, he takes the blame. For himself, for both of them.

If anything happens, he was the only one responsible for Rose's disappearance.

He won't crack about this.

"You killed her?" she tried, and sniffing, he nodded.

"You're telling me the truth this time, Ronald?" asked Beckett with a cool voice.

He turned to look at hear with tearful eyes, something was haunted in them, "I swear on my father's grave," he said hoarsely, "I am the one who killed Rose. I dumped her in that river. Look in the river, you'll find her."

And for once, she believed him.

* * *

"Tell us what happened, Ransone," Beckett, Castle, and Brown stood next to Ronald's dark vehicle, in the middle of the dark street.

Cuffed and humiliated, Ransone seemed tired. His beard grew thick, his arms heavy, his physical and mental state a wreck.

He was then un-cuffed, sitting in the front seat, in front of the driver's wheel. The police photographer followed every move.

"We drove down on our way to SoHo once leaving my mother's place," he began, "Rose was awake. Completely awake; she was angry for being separated from her grandmother, all jumply, hitting the window, it distracted me," he added, "I didn't know what to do, I was frustrated knowing I have to bring her home. I thought, I'd give her chocolate or a candy, so she'll relax, I pulled out a candy box from the glove compartment, pulled out a treat, told her, 'Here, now be quiet'; I remember her face twisted in anger, she cried "Beurk, Beurk!"("Yucky, yucki!") and I told her I don't like it when she says those things about food, I got annoyed, and like that, in a fit of rage, I gave her a blow… took her out completely".

"It should have been some blow," noted Beckett, overwhelmed.

"Some blow," he exhaled, "a 4 year old! One shouldn't be that strong, how much force does it take to knock out a 4 year old? She's like a milkbag, one hit and that's all it takes".

A…_Milkbag_?!

There he stopped, "I kept driving, "Then I noticed she didn't cry or yell or said anything… I looked through the mirror and saw her head was tilted aside, and thought- 'Damn, I must have offended her, so she cries silently now… I didn't want to bring her home like that! I felt sorry for her, I never every intended on hurting baby-Rose! But I knew Marie will be pissed, so I said- "Rose, sweetheart, I'm sorry…" I tried again and again, "Baby, don't be sad, don't cry, daddy loves you…" kept telling her, 'I'll park and buy you a strawberry ice cream, the one you like', but she said nothing. I began to fear I really hurt her, so I pulled the car over, and left the seat, opening the backdoor to pick her up and comfort her. I soothed, 'Baby, why aren't you saying anything, I'm sorry" I picked her up, then noticed she was totally limp..."

Total silence was his answer.

"Something spilled out of her mouth, and it took me some seconds to realize it wasn't saliva…" his voice started to shake, "It was blood. I suddenly realized, what have I done? I begged her, I pleaded, "Rosie, open your eyes, look at me!" I said," his body shivered, "But she was like disjointed doll, her neck was broken, she was totally unresponsive…she was dead, _dead_!" he stopped there, covering his face with his hands, sobbing.

Castle bit his lip, his hands clenching into tight fists, "I…I…I freaked out, I lost my mind, I didn't know what to do!" Ransone cried, "With one blow, I killed my own _baby_! What have I done? How could I explain this to Marie?! I snapped, I wanted to kick something, to drive into a tree and kill myself. To no one in particular I begged to take the time back, I told her over and over again I much I loved her, how sorry I was it ended this way, even though I knew she couldn't hear me…I drove to the Marina, put her in the bag, and threw them both in the river. I came to visit her there many times in the following days. I never could really say goodbye…" he finished, burying his head and hands on the wheel, like deep in shame.

Beckett fell no sympathy for him. This is the man who constantly liked, who ridiculed the police, who broke any moral-code possible.

She turned and opened the backdoor.

"Where was Rose sitting?" she asked mechanically.

Rising from previous position, Ransone sniffled once, pointed at the back seat across from him, "here," he said, "behind the front passenger seat".

"Show me how you hit her," demanded Beckett coldly, "You turned around to hit her? You hit here while being in straight position? Show me what you did."

Taking a deep breath, he tried to turn around, raise a hand and show her. He clumsily turned a few times, the position was all wrong, and then, giving up, he broke in tears again, "For God's sake, detective!" he basically yelled, "Don't make me do this again! I can't! _I can't_!"

He didn't show her.

* * *

**Next chapter to come soon. Please R&R**


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

He was brought back into remand two hours later. They came back to the very same place, between the junctions, the marina closeby. He again said, that this was the place in which he disposed of the body, and that is where Rose will be found.

Divers covered the waters, repeatedly, not giving up, determined to find whatever possible to close this sad affair once and for all.

Cops and feds kept patrolling the streets, dog units passed through every corner, alley, and apartment building.

Information kept flooding the police stations and dispatches.

And Rose?

Rose was gone.

Gone.

* * *

That night, Castle basically crawled back home, exhausted and mentally-drained.

Smelling Martha's cooking from the kitchen, he suddenly remembered just how starved he truly was.

Waiting for him was Alexis, sitting next to the kitchen table, her books and notes in front of her. She was deeply concentrated on the history project she had to submit the following morning. When seeing him, she smiled tiredly, "Still nothing?" she asked, gesturing towards the TV-screen ahead.

The news was one, Rose's picture shown again.

He shook his head, "No," he said feebly, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Finishing this up," she pointed at her book, "we eat together?" her lip starched into a tiny smile.

He smiled back, nodding, and suddenly, before being able to help himself, he pulled his little girl into a tight, warm, loving embrace. A bit surprised, she hugged him back, then pulled away, curious- "what was that for?" she asked, chuckling.

"Nothing," Castle shrugged, softly caressing her hair. He then grew serious, "I love you very much," he said hoarsely.

Understanding, she pulled him towards her again, holding onto him tightly, "I love you, too, dad," she answered, "I am so happy you are my dad, and that you're _so_ different from these people".

Castle's smile broadening, he kissed her forehead, moving the book away. "Let's eat," He said.

His stomach grumbled abruptly.

And both father and daughter burst out laughing.

* * *

"Randolph."

"Yo, Randolph, hows't goin', bro? It's Esposito".

"Hey man! Good thing you've called, I just received the report from Hartmann, you know, 'bout the SUV?"

"Oh, great…and?-"

"It's clean."

"You've gotta be kidding me!"

"Unfortunately, no. We checked the car twice. Not a drop of blood. Totally clean".

"The son of a bitch lied to us again," Esposito felt like kicking something.

How can this case go so…._wrong_?!

"So now what?" asked Randolph, frustrated.

"Well, as a matter of fact, these results aren't supposed to change anything in our search patterns," said Esposito, chewing his pen thoughtfully.

"Dude. I'm telling you the kid wasn't killed in that car. Not from a bleeding fatal blow, anyway. It can be that he intoxicated her, but since I have no blood or body tissues, I know as much as all of you."

"So in another word, we're stuck".

"Yup, pretty much," admitted Randolph.

"Great," exhaled the detective, "Now I just need to tell 'Iron Gates' that we're back to square one."

Randolph chuckled, "Yeah, tell me how that goes for ya," he said, and hung up.

Esposito groaned.

* * *

"So, Randolph's got nothing," ensured Beckett.

Esposito's exasperated expression didn't help lightening the mood, "CSU checked the car, no blood traces on the back or front seat. Car's clean."

"So she wasn't killed in vehicle…" said Beckett slowly, thinking.

"It all takes us back to the same place," noted Ryan, "But we don't have any idea why. He said she's in the river, but everything he told us so far was a lie. She can very well be dancing the friggin' Can-Can in the Moulin Rouge theatre as we speak, for all we know".

"So we keep searching the river, but spread the patrolling radius," said Beckett, "We keep the divers and dog-units there, but take off the pressure from that area. It's time we chance out game-tactics with Ransone."

Ryan and Esposito nodded. "Let's go, bro" Esposito called to his partner, as they left to inform the Captain of their latest findings.

* * *

September arrived.

Hours became days.

Days turned into weeks.

Rose's story never left the headlines.

Her face covered every billboard, newspaper, and website.

There was no one left who hadn't heard of her.

Civilians kept calling, volunteering, criticizing, asking questions…

Law-enforcement authorities didn't say their last words, and kept looking.

The time passing never stopped their endless determination.

Each day they returned empty handed, was the day their insistence increased.

Each day their suspects refused to cooperate, was another day they kept pushing.

And only a small photograph, of a four year old little girl, her soft hair like honey and her eyes sapphire-blue, cried from the murder-board, her gaze screaming for help.

* * *

On that September morning, Beckett woke up, not turning the TV-on, or listening to the radio. She already knew what she was going to hear. Quickly, she got dressed, put light make-up on, hurried to her car, talked to Esposito, on her way to the precinct.

There the reporters waited. Asking about Ransone, asking about Rose. What will be their next step of dealing with the missing child affair?

Castle and the team waited for her, already.

_By the look on Castle's face, he was "all business". Just like her._

_"He's right there, with Melanie."_

_"Already?" she asked, surprised._

_"Oh yeah, and he's quite chatty today, too." Ryan and Esposito approached them._

_Right when she was about to say something, a tiny woman came out of the interrogation room._

_Melanie Spancer _

_Now, she was smiling, a very dangerous smile, that is, with the look of "I just won the big prize"._

_"And…Well?" the four wanted to know._

_"He sent us to the Hudson river" she said._

_All good-mood-vibe they were getting, drained at once. They all sighed simultaneously._

_What's the big news? He sent them over there twice, already._

_And it turned out to be a huge time-waste._

_"__However__", Melanie clucked her tongue, emphasizing, "Not to the same spot"._

_Becket's eyebrows frowned, she exchanged looks with Ryan and Esposito. Castle looked considering._

_"What do you think, Spancer?"_

_Her smile slowly faded, and a serious, exhausted, sincere look appeared, instead, "If you ask me," she said hoarsely, "I think he just wants to get this over with"._

That very same second, the door to the interrogation room suddenly burst open, and Ransone's voice was heard- "Wait!" he called to the men holding him, "Detective Beckett! Detective Beckett!" his voice seemed edgy, like he have not slept for days, and with irritation, he barked at his holders, "Damn it, you!" he reproached, "with not letting me saying a word! For over a week you keep screwing my head with questions, and now I can't possibly say anything!"

Trying again, he insisted, "Detective Beckett!"

The agent and detective both approached. Their suspect's eyes ran about, frantic, "I'll take you, I'll take you!" he gasped, "I promise!"

Hands on her hips, eyebrows frowned, Beckett spat, "Oh, Yeah?" she all but snorted, "Why is this morning any different than the other mornings you 'gave us your word' but lied through your teeth?!" she reproached.

Sighing, Ransone's face twisted in resentment, "Those bitches!" he replied through gritted teeth, "They just won't back off!"

With eyebrow cocked, inquired Beckett- "What bitches?"

"In the western tombs!" he retorted, "You don't realize what they've done!"

It took her a second to understand what he said, "The other inmates," she realized, "They don't cut Marie some slack?" she asked with a silky voice.

"They tried to stab her in her _sleep_!" Ransone creaked, "I told the screwers, the snitches, I promised them, I said- 'I'll show you exactly where Rose is, but don't let them touch my Marie'! I gave them my word! Told them- 'Take me to Beckett, and I'll fess up, just transfer Marie back to PC".

Exchanging looks, Beckett and Spancer thought the same thing.

Ransone will say anything to throw them off, or buy some time, that was obvious.

But he won't risk his wife's safety. She was his only weakness.

"Tell us what you know".

"No," Ransone shook his head vigorously, "I must take you there. You won't find the place otherwise."

Biting her lip thoughtfully, Beckett called, "Hey, Velazquez!"

The short officer in the hallway stopped, "Bring some uniforms and a cap please, alright?"

She nodded and disappeared from eyesight.

Tilting her head, Spancer asked, "What's on your mind?"

Beckett's voice was uncompromised, eyes fixed on their suspect, "Ransone, you're coming with us," she said, her calmed tone threatening, "No more evading. No more lies. This ends here and now".

* * *

"I thought they put your wife under protective custody," said Beckett from behind the wheel, "How did the other inmates reach her?"

"Why don't you ask your friend, here?" answered a handcuffed-Ransone bitterly, from the back seat. Next to Beckett was Melanie, her lips stretching into a tiny grin. She looked somewhat amused.

Beckett blinked in confusion, "Spancer?" she asked carefully, "Feel like sharing? What happened?"

Spancer shrugged indifferently, "From what I've heard," she said in boredom, "Some of the girls in the joint help the screwers realize that there is no reason why Marie-Charlotte should gain any 'special treatment'".

"_It's. _._custody_!" Ransone's eyebrows rolled.

Beckett ignored him, "What special treatment?" she asked.

"Apparently better meals, longer walks in the garden. More Tobacco. I didn't know they let them have it there, did you know that? Well, the girls there are not overjoyed knowing Marie became the snitchers' pet. Said her isolation is not for protection, but for people not to know that she gets preferential treatment. So they decided to do something about it. Payed a roomie to take a knife. It almost ended badly".

"They didn't pay anything! That whore did it gladly! Padme is just one more of Silver-eye's lackeys!" he growled.

"_The Silver-Eye_?!" Beckett gasped.

"Yeah, that's a woman who was charged with murder…"

"Of her husband, after he stabbed her with a screwdriver, in her eye, yeah I remember that. Hell, everybody knows who Silver-eye is. But what does she have to do with Marie?"

"Apparently…" said Ransone, his tone blaming, "Silver-eye put a prize on Marie's head. She's jealous of her, because she doesn't have problems with the snitches or the screwers, her jacket's clean, so she wants her out of isolation to finish her off. Be the queen of the joint, again. Marie told me, she's been the topic of conversation there for quite some time, it's obvious that they're just jealous of her, and…"

"Of, for _God's sake_, Ransone!" Spancer headpalmed, "Silver-eye is not jealous of Marie! She's not jealous of _anyone_, _ever_! She put your wife under her wanted-list, because according to her, Marie is a subordinated inmate!" she emphasized. All knew who and what where the subordinated inmates. What their inevitable destiny was. Those were the same prisoners that by default were pariahs, hated, and unacceptable among other prisoners. They are destined to go through the worst possible treatment by their cell-mates. Especially the "honorable inmates", who will make sure that their time in jail will be the worst of experiences.

Silver-eye was an honorable prisoner. Stabbed multiple times, one eye totally lost, she succeeded in killing her husband, preventing him for reaching her disabled toddler. unfortunately for her, she was also on the head-list of infamous drug-dealers. Her son was sent to foster-care, she was sent to the tombs. And became the judge and executioner of the main correctional-center in the district.

"Ransone, in Silver-eye's moral-code, your wife is one of the worst kind of criminals arriving her territory," Spancer's tone was tender, like explaining complicated science to a one year old, "Your wife's in remand for abusing her own child. Suspected of helping you to get rid of her. What do you think will happen if a judge with a pair decides to take you out of protective custody, huh?" she challenged.

He growled in response, but said nothing.

If she didn't know better, Beckett would think he was pouting.

This whole thing could have been almost funny, if it was not so frustratingly pathetic.

Looking outside the window, Ransone noticed the Hudson-River from south-west. "We should take this exit," he pointed on the sign ahead, "C10, then turn left".

Beckett followed his instructions obediently, taking the exist, then the turn; she spotted the hustle near the area. Search party hasn't left the place at all in the past week.

"Great," grumbled Ransone, "More cops".

Stretching her hand, Spancer handed Ransone the cap, to cover his face from the other cops and journalists, "There," she said, "Let's go".

"Wah, wait!" protested Ransone, "You want me to go out there with you?" he pointed outside, at the river.

"What, you thought this was a road-trip?" Beckett responded, her tone sarcastic, "This isn't Halloween, pal! we didn't get you all dressed up like a cop for nothing. We want to see exactly what you did".

Thinking for only a second, he sighed, his shoulders sagged, "fine," he gave up, "Let's get this over with".

They all left the car. The area surrounding the river was circumscribed, an agent guarding the promenade. Beckett pulled out her badge, and the officer nodded once and let them pass him.

Ransone, all dressed like one more of the cops in field, a cap to his forehead, one to hide his tanned face, looked around, surpassingly recalling the scene.

His beady eyes scanned the area; he then started taking big steps, heading south-east.

The two women followed.

After what seemed to be 5 minutes, he came into a halt.

The two women waited.

"It was dark," he said hoarsely, "Rose was already dead when we got here. Already in the bag. I took it," he showed with his arm, "And with one sweep, I threw it in," he gestured towards the river. Water in that area was murky and dark, something he apparently counted on.

"That was the spot," he concluded, "Search here. You'll find her".

* * *

All three returned to the precinct an hour later, Ransone was back in holding.

Castle and Beckett went though the files concerning Rose's last whereabouts, when suddenly, Ryan called, "Hey, Beckett!" taking long steps towards her desk.

The two turned to look at him, "Hey Ryan, found anything interesting?"

"Well, the car was a bust, BUT," his lips starched into a smile, "Found something else to go on. Thomas went over the computer data, and he found something quite interesting, from May 23rd."

"May 23rd, that's…two days before Rose went missing" thought Castle aloud.

The young male-detective nodded, opening the file he was currently holding, "Apparently," he said, "Marie-Charlotte logged into the French ministry of interior website. On the prescription requests page, she filed a transfer for 4 people only. One guess, who was left out of the list…"

"Rose," answered Beckett, shaking her head. Unbelievable.

"That's correct," nodded Ryan, "Marie filed the request for the Ransone couple, and the twins. Nowhere in the file request Rose's name is mentioned".

"She was planning on moving back to France, and leave Rose here," said Beckett slowly.

"But how do we know it was Marie to ask for the permits, and not her husaband?"

"Oh, that's not a problem to figure out," shrugged Ryan, ""Marie was registered to this website for about three years now, I think ever since her previous boyfriend, Benjamin, wanted to move into the United States with the baby. It's confidential and password protected. And taking to mind that Ransone's French is not that good, I'd say…"

"It was Marie," concluded Beckett, then thinking aloud, said- "She comes back on May 20th, starts to make phone calls in order to pretend she still has Rose with her and everything's fine. But we know now that she had plans to fly back to her homeland without her firstborn."

"Yes, also, the feds went over the apartment?" Beckett nodded, following, "Not a single photo of Rose. Oh, they did have a photo-album Marie kept of them. She wrote in the album- 'We were two, now we're four'". Needless to say, four without Rose. It's like Marie tried to tell herself this child was never really part of their family".

Shaking her head sadly, Beckett bit her lower lip- "At that stage, I find it seriously hard to believe she had nothing to do with her daughter's disappearance".

"That's obvious. Question is, how do we prove it. If we can, at all- prove it, I mean."

"Are there any records from their booking?" Beckett tried.

"Well, uh, they were not brought in together," mumbled Ryan, "But we have the tapes from their interrogation together, that far I know".

"Go over them again," asked Beckett, "All of them. I want to make sure we didn't miss anything."

* * *

September 13th, 1:37pm, 10c exit river-side, Hudson River shores

Charles pulled out his third cigarette this morning. He was on his break, his eyes tired of the constant staring on the blurry camera image.

Bennett should have been here by now. That was supposed be his shift…like, 30 minutes ago? If he's not gonna be here soon, Charles will surely snap. His patience was quickly wearing thin, and Bennett does not want to be there once that happens.

His diving suit still on him, his eyes passed on the promenade, then the marina.

No sign of any approaching vehicle.

After a long nightshift, Charles became edgy and impatient. No one respects normal time schedules, anymore.

Total disrespect.

"Charles!" a young voice called him, suddenly.

Turning around, he saw Harry Goldsmidt hurrying towards him.

Harry was just a young boy, came over volunteering, without any military training whatsoever.

Those who volunteered in the search party were not allowed to come near the water or physically dive. That was saved for the pros only; those who knew the procedure. So Harry was not allowed to go in, even though everyone knew he had a background of a human-fish. His father was a sailor; his uncle had his own fishing business. The guy was born and raised in sea.

But the diving was only for the navy-guys. Harry was to skip this one.

Goldsmidt was 25 year old student. Three years ago he lost his young sister in a school-shooting.

Chloe Goldsmidt was only 7 years old. Harry said he saw Rose's picture in the newspaper, and oh, she looked so much like her, and he knew he couldn't let this drop without doing anything to help.

So for days now, he volunteered in patrols, leaving his studies in the university to come and help the agents and navy people to find a 4 year old. He said he doesn't do it only for Rose, but for Chloe, as well.

"Hey, Harry," replied Charles tiredly, "Rickmers' down there, if ya need him".

"I thought your shift was over," Goldsmidt frowned, "What's up with your replacement?"

"I don't know," Charles shrugged, defeated, "Bennett should have been here by now. I'm telling you, if he's not gonna be here in five minutes, I…" his cell phone rang, cutting his words, "hang on a second," he pulled it out of his handbag, "Charles speaking. Oh, good morning, Sir," his voice turned serious, "Bennett should have…wait, what? When? Oh, ok, I get it…no, I understand…of course…find someone? But, Sir…No, that's ok…yeah, yeah. Yes, sir, I understand. I'll report to you, soon. Goodbye" and he hung up.

"So what's the word?"

"Bennett's sister is in labor," grumbled Charles, "he's a no show for today".

"Labor?" beamed Godsmidt, "That's a good thing! At least something positive happens these days".

"Well, obviously!" complained Charles, "But now I need someone to replace me!"

"That's what he told you? But I thought they have enough divers out there right now?"

"Yeah, but he wants someone from his team," Charles rubbed his face with one soaked palm, trying to force himself on staying awake.

"I've told you guys, why don't you let me help?"

"Boy," the diver exhaled, "You've done enough as it is. Don't underestimate your actions here; it's not taken for granted."

Harry nodded, "I know," he said, "But you have no replacement till 3pm now. And I want to join in the diving, I feel so useless. I wish I could do something more than just sit here."

"It's not up to me, kid".

"So call Martin and ask him".

Thinking for a minute, he sighed and pulled his cell-phone out again, dialing, "Sir, I'm here with Goldsmidt…Yeah, I know. Yeah, well, not right now, I don't… what, eh, yeah?! Oh…ok, then. Sure, I understand…no problem, Sir. Thanks". He hung up again.

Tilting his head, the diver smiled, "gear up, kid," he said smugly, "You're in the water today".

Goldsmidt grinned.

* * *

Beckett's stare focused on their murder board, she tried to gather her thoughts, understand what they know and what they still in need to figure out.

"Detective Beckett?" a soft voice called from behind her.

She turned, and smiled, "Yes, Velazquez?"

"Karpowski sent this from downstairs, said you might find it interesting." She handed her two stapled files.

"Oh, thanks," answered Beckett.

The young woman nodded and was back to her own business.

Beckett frowned, going quickly over the file, and suddenly, the young detective gasped, he eyes widening.

"What is it?" asked Castle, appearing behind her, curious.

"I think we just found our long awaited smoking gun!" she called, her eyes sparkling.

* * *

"Karpowski got this report from dispatch," after copying the file multiple times, Beckett shared it with the rest of the team, "On may 26th, noon-time, signal from both our suspects cellular-phones was traced on 63 Exterior Street, road 83, right beneath the old bridge. Satellite shows it's an abandoned area between the roads. We know that they spent at least 3 hours there".

Ryan frowned, "What is such a fancy couple doing in such a place?" he asked, surprised.

"And for three hours?" completed Castle.

"About five years ago uniforms raided this area," Esposito recalled suddenly, "found a bunch of hookers down in their basement, we know at least two groups were left untouched, we couldn't find them, and thinking about it now…"

"You say Rose was sold to _pedophiles_?!" Castle rasped, appalled.

"Will that surprise you?" Ryan asked.

"No," he thought, then reconsidered, "or yeah!," and then explained, "If Rose was sold, or worse, handed to pedophiles, then why Ransone admitted of killing her? It's a much more serious offense, so what's the big idea?"

"The idea being that his fear from Marie is worse than the fear from prison," answered Beckett, assembly no longer required, "He admits of slaughter, but with no body or proof, he can just tire us out. He fess up to handing her over to pimps, she has a chance to be found and brought back home. For him, any option is better than the last."

"Something that shouldn't bother him at all. No chance of Rose's ever being handed to them, even if she's found safe and sound. And both Ransone and Marie will serve time for child abuse and obstruction of justice."

Sighing, Beckett got back to the point, "Ryan, take a group of uniforms, search the place again. If Rose is held by women-traffickers, we still have a chance of closing this case without too many heads being chopped off. If the media shows up, give them the boot. Update the captain before leaving".

Ryan nodded, "On it," he replied, then left the room.

"We," the young female detective told Castle and Espodito, "Are going back to the Hudson River."

* * *

Ryan's group included 6 more cops, except him, they drove east, according to given location.

This area was as filthy and abandoned as he recalled from his time at narcotics, he remembered where the basements were, ordered the other cops to search in the north-western vicinity. They scanned the lower basements, the place where all drug users and hookers could be found.

Some say mobs owned this territory a decade ago, they used to bring here snitchers and they were never heard from, again.

This place was not suited for a child.

For long minutes they raided the place, guns out, they were careful to search any possible corner.

'The basements' were basically the underground rooms underneath the old bridge. The place smelled, it was dark and every instinct screamed to get the hell out of there. But of course, they stayed.

Forcing their eyes to adapt to the darkness, they checked each basement.

Then, in one of the rooms, they stopped.

And Ryan's breath was taken away.

"Detective Ryan," mumbled one of the officers, when they suddenly understood what they were seeing.

Ryan gulped loudly, "Jacobs," he stuttered feebly, "Maybe we should call the captain, now".

The officer nodded wordlessly.

And the world like stood still.

* * *

Goldsmidt was like fish in water.

It was frozen, but he was used to dive and swim in ice-like waters. It didn't bother him like the others.

The darkness in the endless abyss of the river bothered him more.

Divers covered the area nonstop. Many gave up mentally, did their jobs on automat, not believing the child is there, but obeying orders nonetheless.

However, this being Goldsmidt first dive, he decided to stick to optimism.

He reached new depths, looking deeply in places he thought were not yet reached.

He just hoped he could be of help.

* * *

Among all those nameless pale faces, he looked for a child. something resembling the tiny photo on the murder-board.

They all did.

Ryan and his colleagues.

There were children.

More than a few of them.

But Ryan looked for a small girl.

A tiny Rose.

And there she was.

A little girl.

Tiny feet. A small physique. The white fabric still covered her. Wrinkled, but still pure-white.

The little, it seemed, will in a second run to them, ask them to hold her, her mouth full of laughter and wonder.

Then Ryan picked up the phone, called the captain, giving her much needed news.

* * *

Goldsmidt ignored the bothering pressure in his eyes and ears, diving deep, the darkness pushing him forward.

And suddenly, he held his breath.

Right there, underneath the rocks, there was…something.

Determined, he dived further; trying to reach whatever it was he spotted in the dark waters.

He reached, and touched whatever it was he saw. He felt the resistance of something resembling hard canvas. Took him some seconds to understand it was a duffle bag. A dark-red duffle bag.

His heartbeat thundered like drums.

Goldsmidt kept feeling the bag, finding two handles; he never dared peeking inside.

With one strong motion, he grabbed onto the bag, pulling it upward.

The heavy bag disengaged from the rocks, began almost floating.

With his right arm, he kept pulling the bag to surface, wondering if the burn in his eyes was due to the water pressure, or was it his own attempt to hold back tears.

It could be a mistake.

It could be just trash someone wanted to get rid of. Or just some package.

He begged the God he no longer believed in after Chloe's death, that it was just a mistake.

* * *

To her feet were small doll-shoes.

Dressed in white, she was still holding onto her pacifier.

Ryan felt something breaking inside his chest, once he saw her.

* * *

Harry reached the water surface, the bag close to his body.

Then suddenly, everything happened very quickly.

Reaching shore, the shocked journalists, the divers and agents and cops all surrounding him, reaching for the bag, trying to have a peek.

And Goldsmidt held his peace.

* * *

Even though it didn't look that was, Captain Gates was a very sensitive individual.

She was exceptionally dedicated to her work, more than once giving her detectives a hard time, she had a reputation to hold on to, but still, it didn't mean she was stone-hearted.

In the last two months, one photo of a 4 year old girl, kept haunting her, from newspapers, news broadcasts, and internet websites. What this tiny person had been through, could shrink the heart of every person, even one with the weakest sensitivity.

Victoria Gates wasn't blessed with children, her beloved husband was her whole world, but just being a person, urged her to want and finish the 'Rose Affair' as soon as possible. Besides the criticism and the eyes always watching her every move on that case, she wanted this be over with for the most simple of reasons- Rose deserves justice.

It'll be a cold day in hell before she shares those feelings with her team, but this is what truly believed.

Which is why she felt like a strong punch just hit her insides when she received that phone-call on a mid-September afternoon, a phone call carrying the news she, and millions of New-Yorkers, waited eagerly to hear.

"Sir?" the voice on the other side of the line was hesitant, careful.

"Yes?"

"We're on our way back to the precinct. We found Rose".

* * *

**And yeah. I just stopped there.**

**More to come soon. Promise.**

**One chapter to go, then the Epilogue.**

**Thank you for keeping up with me:)**

**Reviews are what I live for.**


	11. Last chapter

_And cursed be he that shall say: avenge this!  
Such vengeance for blood of babe and maiden  
Hath yet to be wrought by Satan  
Let blood just pierce the abyss_

_And pierce the abysmal black of creation  
And there in the dark devour and corrode  
The low Earth's rotting foundation!_

* * *

**Fifth part- THE END**

**Final Chapter**

In all his years, working as a cop, Robert Jacobs never came across such a thing.

He used to get winds of what happens in the basements beneath the old bridge. A magnet for hookers and junkies, the last place any normal civilian would want to be dragged into.

The thorn in the side of every cop.

As Ryan told him more than once.

Rumor was, that months and years ago, before the raids, the mob guys, and the trashers from 'Suicide-slums', would bring their victims down here. The snitchers, the traitors, their family members- women, children, old men- and torture them to death, leave their bodies here.

Nothing prepared them for this basement, though.

For this reality.

Corpses.

Some decomposed, some in process of decomposition, all were left abandoned on the ground, like in a scene taken out of a cheap-funded slasher.

The uniforms tried to digest what their eyes were seeing. So unreal it seemed.

And passing through all of them, they looked for a tiny girl.

And they found her, all dressed in white, still holding onto what looked like a pacifier, it seemed that in a minute she might wake up from a sweet dream, one of dancing with the angels- and her mouth will fill up with laughter and joy and she'll start swaying like the doll that she was.

Her skeletal height appeared to be one meter long, her hair, still noticed through her decomposing body, was dawn-red.

This wasn't Rose.

But she was one of dozen children, most of them boys, who were brought here to die, without name or identity. Victims of the American every-day crime.

Ryan gulped loudly, "Jacobs," he stuttered feebly, "Maybe we should call the captain, now".

The officer nodded wordlessly.

And the world like stood still.

* * *

Goldsmidt carried the duffle-bag to shore, where it was then taken from him. A cop took hold of it, firmly grabbing the handle, pulling it upward.

The waterlogged duffle-bag was moldy, and smelled of grief and fear, its color almost completely faded.

As soon as it was taken away, it fell victim to the thirst of camera-flashes and nosey reporters; Policemen tried to prevent them from reaching the bag, blocking their view, encircle the newfound treasure so the snoopy photographers won't gain any access to it.

A female detective, later on the young student learned her name was Katherine Beckett, leaned carefully over the bag, sliding the zipper open to have a look inside.

Her face turned as white as a sheet.

And in that moment he knew- it was over.

* * *

His gaze following Becketts from where they found the bag, Castle felt his heartbeat quickening in anxiety and somewhat fear.

His eyes traveling over the stiff fabric, he peeked inside, as soon as his partner unzipped the red-bag open.

His eyes then closed tightly, he felt the sudden need to lean down and empty his stomach.

In the bag were unfold clothes in a pile. White skirts of a pure-joyful day, pink blouses of innocent and play, tiny shoes of hide-and-seek and tag, and butterfly-like pins, a small toothbrush and some dolls. All green and rotten and moldy.

And there, underneath the clothes and shoes, hidden, buried- were the tiny remains of a human being.

One could identify a human skull, bones and body-tissues.

The skeleton was in a fetus-like position, its length-less than a meter, and there, between the tiny bones, probably the child's hand-fingers- was a small pacifier.

Purple-pink one, with butterflies printed on it.

Castle felt raged and nauseous seeing this, Beckett turned pale.

But it was over.

They all understood- It was finally over.

* * *

"Good evening," the newscaster greeted, her face stern, "One red duffle bag was recovered from the Hudson River 45 minutes ago, and with that we apparently get a closure on one of the most horrific child-abuse cases our city has ever known…"

* * *

All cameras and microphones were on Rickmers, who arrived the scene immediately, giving his final conclusions to the journalists and the people of New-York:"What we looked for was a duffle-bag," he said, "and what we found was a duffle-bag," he added grimly, "the mobile-lab is on its way here, the duffle-bag will be tested, and soon after will be passed to the institute of forensics for further check-ups. I believe, in the next 24 hours we will be told for sure if indeed those remains are of the missing child Rose…"

* * *

Goldsmidt couldn't describe his feelings in words, as soon as the bag was taken away, it became the center of attention, passed between agents and cops and meds, the hustle started once the cameras started flashing around aimlessly.

And young Harry was shook up, confused and dumbstruck.

And sad. He was deeply saddened that things ended up this way.

He hoped so much that…

"Goldsmidt!" he heard the diver Charles among all the mush of words and calls in the area. The diver ran towards him, his eyes in tears. And Charles never cried.

With a sharp movement, he grasped Harry's head, planting a kiss on his forehead; his voice shaking, he stuttered, "You were great, Harry. You did great!"

The young student didn't share the feeling. They found Rose's body dumped in the river's depths. For her, nothing was great, or will be, ever again. They let her down, betrayed and killed and humiliated her by burying her so ruthlessly in cruel endless waters.

Even in her death, she was not respected.

So what's so fucking great _about_ it?!

It seemed Charles understood, and with a stable tone he said- "Harry, we all know that the small doubts are for the politically-correct formulation only. Most chances are that those are Rose's remains over there," Harry's eyes turned gray, "But despite all that, you gave her a tremendous gift. You found her, Harry. You gave her back her name, her identity. Her honor." his eyes pieced his, serious, he shook his head in disbelief, "You have no idea just how huge that is, what a wonderful thing you just did here. You saved that little girl. Even more because you actually cared; don't forget that. Don't you forget that, boy."

* * *

The bag, containing the piled up clothes, Rose's pacifier, dolls, and skeletal remains, was taken into the forensic lab up town.

The Federal Bureau and NYPD, mainly the 12th precinct, received the full report concerning the missing-child case.

The remains located in the Hudson River belonged to the child Rose Isabelle Ransone, age 4, blood and DNA traces on the bag, and inside the bag, belonged to the missing infant.

Due to the body's decomposition, forensics could not determine cause of death, but the blood and DNA found inside were a giveaway. Rose was apparently dumped into the Hudson unconscious, and at some point, woke up and tried to struggle her way outside, hurting herself in the process.

The small child died in torture and anguish.

All that was left was to do her justice.

* * *

In a small wooden coffin, Rose was buried few days later. Soft lilies were gracefully put on the small casket, all while detective Ryan, Esposito, Beckett, writer Richard Castle, agents Brown and Spancer, and captain Victoria Gates stood silent, circling it- each having their own silent goodbyes, respecting her short like and the tragedy of her demise.

None of them knew the child; all were determine to fight her last battle.

The funeral was to take place in New York, the people were to accompany the coffin if so they willed, and at the end of her journey, Rose will be sent to France, to her birth town, to be buried respectfully; she deserved nothing less.

After long months of endless wandering, Rose is finally going home.

* * *

On live-broadcast, the funeral was filmed, September 13th, 4PM. One small casket traveled through the masses on its way to the local airport. Thousands asked to give lasts respect to the girl who became a symbol without realizing it.

None of them knew her in her life.

All were mourning her death.

Among the spokesmen, about Rose's short and sad life, one woman, her hair going gray and to her eyes soft small glasses, found it hard to stay standing, and was supported by local policewoman.

Howls of agony erupted from her aching heart and throat.

Vivian Ransone.

The policewoman tried to wash her face, serve her some water, but she was inconsolable, the sounds bursting from her were pitiful and heart wrenching, "No, no, noooo!" her screams filled the air, tearing on the silent service, in which end she was destined to be separated forever from the child; her rage targeted on her son and daughter in law, she called in wrath, "May God punish you!" her face reddened, and she trembled as a madwoman, "_May God punish you_!" she wailed, "Why did you do this to me, _why_?! How could you take her away from me?!" tears covered her face in endless misery.

When seeing the small coffin approaching, the great-grandmother threw herself on it, mourning her beloved granddaughter, "Rosie!" she cried, pulling on the soft ribbon in grief, "My Rosie…!" she refused to pull herself away, one of the mourners pushing her hair back tenderly, "There, there, Vivian…"was the soft voice saying, "She's in a better place, now…"

* * *

"We call for this jury to determine that the child Rose Ransone was therefore murdered by both her mother and grandfather, on May 25th, and that both defendants must be held responsible, and pay the price for their hideous actions…"

* * *

The airplane landed in Montesson, the coffin then was carried away, softly put on the asphalt in silence.

Few locals waited there patiently.

Benjamin, after long days of sudden disappearance, reappeared. Seeing the casket, of what was left of his firstborn, he gulped loudly once, but said nothing. He didn't cry or visibly grieved the death of his child.

His face was blank.

Sanding not far away was Jeniffer, his new wife, their son held securely in her arms.

* * *

"Admitting of not loving her daughter, of wanting her out of her life, Marie-Charlotte detached herself, denied being Rose's caregiver, went against every maternal instinct, forcing her husband to choose whether loving her child is more important than attending her caprices… she forced him to do her bidding, brought him to a crossroad, where she more than solicited the murder, she was the head and brain behind the actions- for 'The voice is the voice of Jacob, but the hands are the hands of Esau'…

* * *

Behind the couple, stood a thin young lady, her eyes green and her hair soft blonde. Those green eyes were puffy; she seemed almost shy, holding a soft white teddy-bear, a ribbon to its neck.

She approached the coffin slowly, carefully, kneeling on the ground, touching it softly.

Her head and arms leaned on the soft wood, she began weeping silently.

Brigitte.

Her hands caressing the wooden coffin, she bit her lip, chin shivering, her eyes passing over the casket, disbelieving, "Je t'aime, Rose…" she whispered with tearful eyes, "Je suis ici, et Je t'aime…Je t'aime, Je t'aime, Rosie…"

* * *

Nights, morning, and afternoons passed, and Rose's photo, along with her other relatives, was removed from their murder board.

In its place other photos were hung, fresh ones, of other victims.

Victims loved and cared for, by their relatives, friends, and families. Victims who had dear ones to cry for justice in their behalf.

To one small girl, this privilege was beyond reach.

Everyone remembered Rose, the small child with the sad eyes and flushed cheeks. Those eyes kept haunting them, even days after the case was closed.

Routine demanded its respectful place, but the dedicated police enforcement precinct kept following the Ransone trial.

In the arrest records, the ones Beckett asked to look into, Marie Charlotte warned her husband of reviling any convicting details. Like the red bag, like young governess Amanda's admission of them returning late that night, of her reaction, or lack thereof, when she was told that same week that Rose's problem was solved "smoothly". She won't come back, ever again.

That morning, their verdict was set- they were both found guilty of murdering the toddler. Looking into the Swan apartment, the found DNA traces, on letters and in the car and kitchen. It was not by a long shot to presume they will be also found guilty of slaying Ransone's sister and husband.

They will not see their house or daughters ever again.

Feeling was that, justice was finally achieved.

But will all that, looking into their eyes, and find absolutely no emotion, no regret, it was eating at Beckett- "Castle, this is one of the few things I'll never be able to grasp. I'd expect that after everything that has happened, they'd feel some kind of remorse, but I found none. How can it be that such darkness exists amongst us?"…..

This question was left unanswered.

Rose's case was closed with more questions than answers, really. Sadly, that was one of the things not up to them to change.

But Castle, on his part, felt that he could do something to change things. Within him. In the fallowing days, he did his best to be a better listener to Alexis' needs. To be a more patient father, a more caring parent.

That was what Rose helped him seeing. He knew it didn't mean much, but he sometimes found himself looking at the bright sky, thanking her for the lesson she taught him.

On one of those everyday nights, he sat with Beckett on her comfortable couch, thinking. "You know," she said, suddenly, "Lanie told me that they found in this report, you know, about the bag, the red one?"

He nodded.

"Marie had it for years," Beckett sipped on her wine thoughtfully, "Apparently, she was herself an abused child. Her father used to beat her up, quite often. He tried to take her dolls away, so she hid them inside that bag when she was a young girl. It was hers and Ben's travel bag. It was basically her hope for a better future".

"Something that never happened" concluded Castle, "The other way around, that is. The red bag, which basically symbolized Marie's and Benjamin's journey, ended up being their daughter's death penalty," the irony of this situation screamed volumes.

Beckett nodded gloomily.

Castle's chuckle held no humor, "Like Chekhov's gun," he said, feebly.

"Like Chekhov's gun", Beckett agreed.

Silence enveloped them.

* * *

_~~~Fin~~~_

* * *

**A/N- Wow. What a long way it took me to complete this story.**

**As stated before, and many times, this fanfic is based on a true story taking place in 2008-2009. I hope I did justice telling it, tried to post it as accurately as I can, even though it was not at all easy.**

**The poem often used in chapter openers is called 'On the Slaughter', written by Haim Nachman Bialik, telling the story of the Kishinev pogrom in Russia, 1903.**

**In Christianity, it is known that the human can be corrupted with the seven deadly sins. Taken from the Book of Solomon's proverbs, the root of the deadly sin originated from the king's speech about 'The seven abominations'. Third one, mentioned in this fanfic, is- ****'Hands that shed innocent blood'.**

**I want to thank you all so much for following this story. Your reviews are appreciated so much; those were my fuel to keep writing even though I know my English sucks (LOL).**

**Final epilogue to end this story. Perhaps even tomorrow or after the holiday. depends on my cooking ability XD  
**

**I cannot thank my readers enough. You guys are the best.**


	12. Epilogue: Child Of No-one

**_"My own heart is dead, prayer drained from my tongue.  
The hands lie limp, and hope undone.  
How long? Until when? How long?..."_**

**_H . N . Bialik- 'On The Slaughter'_**

* * *

**Epilogue: Child Of No One**

* * *

**This fanfic tells the story of a 4 year old girl, named ****Rose Pizem****, who was murdered by her mother and paternal grandfather on May 12****th****, 2008; her body was found in the Yarkon River in Tel Aviv, Israel, on September 11, same year.**

* * *

On April 2008, 17 year old _Marie-Charlotte Renauld_ married her fiancé_, Benjamin Pizem_, in Paris, France. They found their dwelling in Normandie. Few months after, she got pregnant, and gave birth to a girl- Rose Isabelle Charlotte Pizem.

3 months later, Benjamin came in touch with his father, an Israeli named _Ronny Ron_, who had a 'one night stand' with his French mother while she toured Israel nearly 20 years ago, and they all agreed to come to Israel and reunite the family.

The family flew to Israel, but not long it took for the newlywed's relationship to run aground, when Benjamin found out his wife was having an affair with his own father. The two got divorced, and on bad terms, due to the circumstances; Benjamin left Israel, holding full custody on his daughter Rose (14 months old) after Marie-Charlotte made it clear she is not interested in raising the child or caring for her in any way.

At the age of 2, Rose was sent into a hospital due to Pneumonia; There, doctors suspected of abuse, and she was taken out of her father's watch. She was transferred between orphanages, then sent to her grandmother's care- Isabelle Daye. Isabelle told that the entire time Rose stayed under her custody, not once Marie-Charlotte asked about her. In all those months, she called only one time, asking for a cake recipe, not even interested in how her daughter was feeling, or if she was 'even alive'.

Rose, after few months, was sent to another orphanage, and there she stayed until Marie-Charlotte "bothered" to come looking for her; She received full custody of her daughter, and took her back to Israel. Alas, in Israel Rose didn't seem to adapt to her new role in the house, and not long it took for her to start showing signs of distress. She didn't understand who her mother was, who her father/grandfather was, why she's being punished and beaten, and why it was so hot outside. She did not get along with her new sisters, Juliette and Louise, and in frustration, she'd bang her head against the wall.

For months after her arrival, Marie-Charlotte would plead her husband to 'get rid of Rose'. He tried sending her to a boarding school, to Chabad, to an adoptive family or a religious institute, but found no solution for the child. Temporary arrangement was found with his mother, Vivian Ya'acov, who cared for the child for months. After she became ill, though, she asked her son to come and take back the infant. Neither Ron nor Marie were satisfied with this outcome. On May, 2008, the couple came up with the idea to kill her.

**Ronny Ron and Marie-Charlotte, together, or one of them, strangled the toddler to death, set her body in a red duffle-bag, and dumped it in the Yarkon River, in hopes the child is never found.**

That was the Israeli court's final conclusion, in the investigation that was officially opened on August, after the great-grandmother reported Rose missing in July.

For nearly four months Rose's body was dumped in a river, without anyone knowing or noticing her missing. With the grandmother's complaint, an investigation was opened; its details are described as accurately as possible in this fanfic.

All questionings of suspect as written here took place in the Netanya and Petah-Tikva police headquarters. Though impossible to get hold of the tapes themselves (due to the suspects rights of privacy), I did get hold of the reenactment tapes, describing one-for-one the questioning of the suspects.

During this investigation, few questions rose, some of them concerning Ron's possible connection to the murder of his older sister, _Sigalit Kirshner_, and her husband. Kirshner suspected her brother's actions, and demanded answers concerning Rose's wellbeing. Both she and her husband were killed in a faraway forest. Police believed it was due to a failed mugging, but the suspect committed suicide and the missing cash was found at his place, untouched.

_The murder of Sigalit Kirshner remained an enigma._

They were unable to prove Ron's connection to his sister's death, or the case's connection to Rose's disappearance.

The story of Rose Pizem shook the Israeli people, and was reported on French and Britain newspapers and Television, as well. For long days the media chewed on her story, eagerly following any new detail released or any new discovery found.

Hundreds of policemen, civilians and volunteers covered every corner between Tel Aviv and Netanya on that August, looking for the girl. All conflicts, whether inside or outside the state, were pushed aside, in favor of trying to reach the impossible and find the child in question.

Rose was found a month later, drowned in the Yarkon River.

The public was shocked to discover Rose was indeed killed by her family. The child, who gained the nickname of "The Israeli Madeleine McCann", became the symbol of protest against child abuse.

The story remained on headlines even months after the body was found.

Rose Pizem is buried in Montesson. Attending her funeral were her biological father, parental grandmother Beatrice, few spokesmen of the Jewish Agency in France, and European activist of the official organization funding Rose's search parties.

During the funeral, Rose's picture on her coffin shook violently, till it fell and broke to pieces.

On September, that same year, two Israeli civilians composed "Rose's Ballad", broadcasted on radio for long days. Its lyrics is from Rose's point of view, where she tells about her frustration and fear due to the constant abuse, wishing it to stop. Two months later, the Israeli "Apatica" band composed the song "Wild Flower" in Norway, told from the killer's point of view ("Wild flower, you cry so much, let's just get it over with…").

On spring 2010, three films were produced to tell the toddler's story- "Rose's silence", "The Secret Of Killing Baby Rose" (a both wonderful and terribly sad movie produced by documentary-artist Nili Tal), and "Child Of No-One".

The heavy-metal band "Prey For Nothing" composed and performed the song **"Chekhov's Gun"** (The fanfic Is named after this amazing piece of art). The story of the song tells of a young boy whose mother gifted him with a gun to defend himself from the cruel children at school. Every day he'll eat, sleep, and study with the gun attached to his hand like a shadow. But on a winter morning, she kills her son with the very same gun she gave him, then buried him in a suitcase and disposed of his body.

The clip emphasized two symbols. One is the red color. Red like the suitcase, red like the sweatshirt the boy wore and red like the child's blood. The other emphasis was on that the child seemed to be fatherless. Meaning the male figure is either absent or meaningless. The mother is the one pulling the strings. Last thing to mention was that in the clip, while the school, the garden, and the city, were all spring colored, the child's house was black and white (colors of death) so were his belongings and his mother. While the outside world outwardly was the danger, in fact, the danger was at home, the child was simply unaware of that.

Singer Lee Gaon performed the song "Streams of embarrassment", which is basically the translation of the known song "La Noyee", sung by Serge Gainsbourg; it describes Rose's story and dedicated to her memory.

Funded by volunteers and donations, a monument was built in Rose's memory, on the Yarkon shores. Right next to were her remains were found, a playground was set in her memory ("Rose's Garden") funded by Israeli actress Ya'el Abuksis, so "Rose will keep on living through the young children playing in it".

**On late 2010, Ronny Ron was found guilty of murdering his granddaughter. The Mother, Marie Charlotte, was found guilty of soliciting the murder. Since in Israel, soliciting murder equals murder itself- both Ronny Ron and Marie Charlotte were sentenced to life imprisonment.**

Their two other daughters were sent into foster families aboard. Good chances are, they'll never know who their biological parents were, nor ever hear of their sister Rose.

12 days before the verdict was given, Isabelle Daye, Marie's mother, committed suicide by jumping into the Seine River from a 60 meter height bridge. In her letter she wrote that she wanted to die like Rose, in the waters, and that she could no longer live knowing she raised a monster. "Hopefully, I'll meet Rose in heaven" were her last words.

On April 2009, California, United States, an 8 year old girl named _Sandra Cantu_ disappeared from home. Her body was found in a suitcase, sunk in the San Joaquin County irrigation pond, next to her teacher's home. The same teacher was later on found guilty of murder and abuse. Raiding her house, searching for a smoking gun, disturbing evidence was found on her computer files. Apparently, days before, she researched the Rose Pizem case in Israel, and took 'inspiration' from the child's murder, nearly a year before, in order to kill little Sandra.

For those interested in more details, 'google' will do it for you.

* * *

**Rose Isabelle Pizem**

**2003-2008**

**"O earth! Cover not thou my blood,**

**And let my cry have no resting-place!"**

**(Job 16:18)**

* * *

THE VERY VERY END

* * *

**A/N- Child in story image: 4 year old Rose Pizem, taken by her grandmother in France.  
**

**Thank you so much for following and supporting.**

**I do love reviews. That's what I live for, actually.**


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